Human Resources
by Automatonation
Summary: In a million worlds, a girl named Taylor Hebert, trapped in a locker foul beyond imagination, triggered and gained the power to control insects and arthropods, blessed by the power of the Queen Administrator shard. Here, Taylor's shard has something approaching its full potential. A story of... Administration
1. Intern 1-1

Read the Disclaimer: Wildbow owns Worm. Anyone else owns everything else. What I own is mine. Or possibly the bank's.

Intern 1.1

_Thud._ Taylor weakly beat her bloody, gashed fist against the metal door of her locker for what could have been the hundredth time. Her mouth was bone dry; her tongue was swollen with thirst and coated with the taste of her own vomit and the stench of rotten blood. She opened her mouth a fraction and groaned out "H-help me!" as loud as she could – barely above a whisper now. There was silence, save for the flies buzzing, their larva feasting on the... material covering the bottom of the cramped locker, used sanitary pads and tampons crawling with vermin, vermin crawling, creeping, covering Taylor's exposed flesh and creeping under her clothes, almost under her skin. She couldn't move, could barely breathe, her muscles aching from the constraint of the tight metal box, stooped so that her tall gangly frame – like a stick figure, Emma had taunted her – could fit inside the locker that was slightly shorter than she was. Her hope diminished with every drop of blood that dripped from her hand, gashed open on a bolt of the locker door. "_If I was stronger,_" she thought, "_If I had friends, then this wouldn't have happened._" she mused, nearly deranged. It was probably early Saturday morning by now, she speculated. Only a day and a half, in the dead of winter, until there was a chance of escape. But no-one cares, whispers a voice in her head that sounded eerily close to Sophia Hess's malicious drawl. "No-one cares about _trash_ like you," Sophia had growled as she had shoved Taylor into her prison, "No-one _loves you_, because you are _prey_."

A tear trickled down Taylor's cheek as she whispered "I'm not prey." She whimpered, and the flies crawling on her face buzzed and resettled. "I'm not!" she moaned, desperately trying to convince herself, reaching desperately for some hidden depths of strength, banging, growling, shaking, tears flowing like twin waterfalls as she desperately grasped and hoped for _something_ that could save her. Taylor fell away from her body and into the abyss.

A pair of multi - dimensional entities, squirming around each other in a helix like the genetic code of the galaxy, shedding brilliant shards of light that glistened as they vanished into the void. [_Power._]One seemed to whisper as it soared towards her. [_Influence_.] It stated as it grew into a sun that was not a sun. It brushed Taylor's nose, and power rushed through her veins like fire. [_Administration_.]

Taylor jerked awake, words she didn't understand on her lips, faint memories fading rapidly into vapor. 'Did I just fall asleep?' She wondered, calm for the first time in as long as she could remember. Then her situation hit her again, and she tensed, before realizing that something had changed. All the flies and scavengers were no longer crawling over her skin. The locker was silent. Taylor closed her eyes, and the dark locker exploded into a universe of stars. It took Taylor a moment to realize that the galaxy she saw in her mind's eye was actually a single glimmering spec of light for each and every life form, swirling and moving in patterns that, with a moment's thought, resolved into the entire school, traced by the vermin skittering through its walls and floors. Then, Taylor saw it, a blue light as bright as a sun, far out shining the bugs and rats. In an instant, Taylor knew that the janitor, and possibly her salvation, had arrived at the school, getting an early start in the constant war against decay in Winslow High. Desperately, Taylor reached for that light... and touched a mind.

AN: Discovered the Worm series. None of my time is my own. Please and Review, so I can improve.


	2. Intern 1-2

Intern 1.2

Touching the janitor's mind was child's play. Taylor could tell that with a thought she could completely hijack his body, control him down to the deepest autonomous functions, and that terrified her, because at some deep level, she craved that kind of control. In fact, if this was So- she cut that thought off, because if she finished it… then Carrie would look like a Saturday morning cartoon. Taylor was better than that. She had to be. With light fingers she brushed against his mind again, getting a feel for her new abilities. In one spot, she realized that she knew the best solvents for removing paint from brickwork, how to fold a paper airplane that would fly the length of a hallway, and, with a blush, knew the exact location of every adult bookstore in a twelve mile radius, but not a single prostitute. She could see through his eyes, feel the chill of the air in the hallway, smell the scent of the cleaners and – Taylor's own eyes shot open in the darkness of her locker – the foul hint of rotten blood. With a delicate touch, she tried to bring the scent to the janitor's attention, build it up without terrifying him. She could see him start to look around, and felt his lips move as he muttered "What the hell is that stink?"

Taylor banged her hand on the door as hard as she could and yelped as she cut her hand again. The janitor jerked, his head swiveling as he looked down the long hallway with the lockers. "Help me!" Taylor tried to scream, but only managed to rasp, but she brushed his mind again, bringing it to his attention, giving him the opportunity to realize what he heard. Then, she poked his motor centers, leading him to walk closer to her prison, but letting him think it was his own idea. She made more noise, banging and groaning, the janitor jerking to a run on his own, unknowing that his new passenger was watching through his senses.

As the janitor walked within five paces, he recoiled with disgust as he smelled the true depth of the foul reek emanating from the locker, and Taylor was able to sense a growing rage in him. She realized that she wasn't able to truly read his thoughts, but she was able to sense his emotions as if they were her own. She prodded that rage into action, and banged on the locker door when he started to walk in the wrong direction. He saw the locker door jump, and saw red, then suppressed it as he went for his keys, the master key that unlocked all the combination dials. Taylor whispered "Help me" and hit the door again, then, let go of the janitor's mind, and let herself fall into darkness. she had an impression of brilliant light and fresh air before her tired muscles went limp. As she fell into the janitor's arms, she forced herself to whisper the names of her tormentors, the names of the girls who had put her in this hell. "Emma…. Sophia…. Madison…." Then, all went dark.

Time passed in darkness. There were flashes of sensations, wet cloths cleaning her skin and hair, the prick of needles, the steady beeping of machines, a calloused, familiar hand held desperately in her own. As she drifted closer to consciousness, she heard her father whisper "Not Taylor, Not her too." Taylor dove deeper into the darkness, until finally, she had no choice but to surface again.

The hospital room was empty, a dull blur without her glasses. Taylor lifted one arm, then the other, feeling the shift of IV needles in her right arm as she shifted with a grimace. With her left hand, she felt around, trying to find the call button, only for a blurry shape to come into the room, dressed in blue scrubs that resolved into a petite, dark skinned nurse. Her mind burned like a sun, shining with light. All the minds burned like lights, insect and animal minds distant stars in a sea of suns. Taylor was overwhelmed, almost drowning in sensation, but she forced her new sense back with sheer force of will. The nurse reached her side. "Are you awake dear?" she asked. Her voice was soft and low, full of cheer that was somehow both forced and genuine. Taylor nodded, and the nurse beamed.

"My name is Vera, and I'll be your primary nurse while you're here." Vera gently brought a mug of ice water to Taylor's lips. "If there is anything you need, let me know."

"Thanks." Taylor croaked. "Dad?"

"He's been here since you came in, two days ago." Vera smiled. "He just left for a moment, to get you some things from home. He should be back soon."

Taylor smiled weakly, and then made up her mind in a flash as she sipped at her water. "Thanks. Can you call the police? I need to make a report."

Vera's eyes widened, then, as she recalled the intake conditions and the state of the poor girl's body due to her ordeal, her soft smile widened into something predatory. "As soon as your father gets back, dear, then I'll call them myself."

Taylor mirrored her smile, and laid back. She'd need all her strength and resolve for what was next.

She'd have to tell her father.


	3. Interlude 1-2a - Danny

Interlude 1.2a - Danny Hebert.

When Taylor wasn't home when I got off work, I was too tired to be worried. I was emotionally and physically drained from my work day, trying to scrape together the last dregs of the Dockworker's Union into something that could at least survive in a city with a dying bay, on a planet with an Endbringer that was extremely opposed to trans-oceanic shipping. We were losing.

My project to restore the ferry across the bay had been shot down, again, and five of my Dockworkers had lost their jobs. At least one of them was going to be joining a gang, I was sure. Chuck, who was six foot nine and bench press a refrigerator, had jokingly mentioned that Uber and Leet had a Craigslist ad out for 'minions who were not opposed to being described as gorilla-like' a few days ago. I had seen the honest contemplation lurking behind the humor. I honestly hoped it worked out for him. My impression of Uber and Leet, at least from their advertising, was that they were a couple of kids who never grew up. Criminals, but leaps and bounds better than the other options.

I slowly made a sandwich from the meager supplies in the fridge, lights off to save power. Taylor was probably at a friend's house. I was glad for her. She needed to have some fun times, she worried too much. Times were admittedly tight. We were living month to month. Taylor knew what was happening as well as I did, but what could I do? I finished my sandwich and glanced at the clock. 8:30. Taylor should have called by now.

I picked up the phone and called Alan Barnes. Emma was Taylor's best friend, although they had drifted apart since my Annette passed. I stomped on the tears that threatened to we'll up. Not now. Later. 4 rings, then Alan answered. "Barnes residence."

"Alan, this is Danny. Is Taylor there? I haven't heard from her."

I could hear the frown on Alan's voice as he replied. "No, she's not here. Emma hasn't really mentioned her in a long time." He paused for a moment. "Emma? Have you heard anything about Taylor's plans for tonight?" I could hear a faint murmur from the girl before Alan stated. "Ok, sweetie. Danny, she hasn't spoken with Taylor in months, but she heard that she was staying with friends tonight."

I thanked Alan and hung up. Surely she would call.

At 10:00, I called the police. The dispatcher was polite, but distant. No missing persons report could be filed until 24 hours had passed. She asked why I hadn't called Taylor's cell phone. How could I explain my terror that they would take my daughter away too?

At 1:00, I truly paniced. There was nothing I could do. I called the police, to no avail. I nearly put a fist through the wall.

At 3:30 I dozed off fitfully to a sleep filled with nightmares of Annette's broken body with Taylor's face.

At 7:30, the phone rang and woke me up. I answered before the third ring. "Mr. Hebert?" I grunted in reply. "This is Brockton Bay Memorial, your daughter was just admitted to the hospital." My world exploded.

[_Anger. Strength. Power_.]

"Mr. Hebert? Mr. Hebert?"

"I'll be there!" I barked, and hung up. The phone shattered. I stared. Anger thrummed in my veins. I forced myself to calm down. Taylor needed me. I left fingerprints in the doorknob, but not on the car handle.

The hospital is 30 minutes away. I made it in 10.

AN: *blinks* I think I just had Danny trigger... huh. Wasn't planning that, but sometimes these things happen.


	4. Intern 1-3

Intern 1.3

I jogged along at a steady pace, comfortably weaving through the crowded Boardwalk, being careful to actually look where I was going with my own eyes. I didn't want to look odd to anyone by dodging someone I obviously couldn't see coming. I was aware of every human mind within 100 feet of me, sensing everything they sensed, and making an intricate map of my surroundings. The minds of every other living creature around me shone like distant glints of light, mapping the contours of everything else, but I couldn't touch them or influence them like I could with humans. They just... slipped through my fingers, like sand through a net.

As I went, I gleaned the collective skills of those around me, picking up a language here, programming talent there, the best way to make an espresso, everything I could use. Once I touched that skill, it was copied, and then, it was _mine_, muscle memory and all. At the edge of my range, every mind I touched expanded it a little bit, six or eight feet in radius from the person. When I accidentally touched a cape, it was often more like 40 or 50 feet of extra range.

My thoughts ran darker when I thought about capes. Parahumans. The PRT. I was completely and utterly disillusioned. Sofia Hess was Shadow Stalker. That one simple phrase was why the bullying campaign that lasted a _year and a half_ and culminated in _attempted murder w_as utterly ignored by the sycophants in the Winslow High administration.

Everything had been going well. I had called the police to my hospital bed, they had my medical records of the five days I needed in the hospital to recover from the dehydration and subsequent infections, eye witness reports from students who had seen Sophia shove me into the locker at the end of the day – and done nothing, but I was ignoring that.

It had taken a few days to get everything processed with the police , and I was out of the hospital and laying low at school. Something bugged me about Sophia. If normal people burned like suns, she was like a pulsar star, super intense in bursts of colors that were beyond comprehension. I didn't know why, until I gently brushed her mind, and saw, like text in my mind, what her parahuman ability was. Text might be over-simplifying it. I simply _knew_ that Sophia could assume a shadow-like state that could phase through solid matter, and pass that state along to any object on her person.

The other thing that I discovered was that, while I felt that it would be easy to control a normal person, a cape, any cape, I actually had to focus to _not_ bend them to my will. To say that this disturbed me is an understatement. It was unspeakably tempting to just have Sophia out herself as a cape to the public by using her power casually. What stopped me was the fact that if I did that, then I would be her. A bully. It scared me a little, how easy it was to utterly control someone. It was as easy as breathing to see through someone's eyes, but all it took was a little concentration and I utterly controlled someone, down to each breath, each heartbeat. It could all go so terribly wrong. It was so incredibly tempting. I could be a queen, not like royalty on earth, but like a hive, a city of human ants all bent to my will, my slaves. I could feel it. I could taste it. I could be a villain the likes of which none had ever seen. And that revolted me.

I shook myself, as I dodged around a rolling hot dog cart. Apparently I had also gained a tendency to internally monologue. Anyway, Sophia had been arrested, in school, as I watched, which was very satisfying. Then everything went screwy. My state-appointed prosecutor barely spoke to me, and when we were in court, he was little better than a baboon. I can't actually read thoughts, so I couldn't tell why, and I can't access memories, just skills, so I couldn't confirm what I suspected, that he had been instructed to flub the case. I did the best I could, gave testimony through rigorous cross examination, showed my journals documenting the bullying, and in the end, it was worth nothing. Sophia was acquitted on a hung jury.

Fortunately, after the case my dad withdrew me from school and enrolled me in a distance-learning mail-order course. This gave me the time to prepare for what I considered to be my true career. I studied parahumans almost religiously, I ran to get into shape, exercised, and gained skills every time I ran past a martial arts dojo or a gym. I studied, teamwork exercises and squad tactics. I played chess online at the library. I had decided I was going to present myself as a minor thinker and trump, who could selectively promote or discourage teamwork in a small area and assimilate skills from others. All things considered, this was the least scary presentation of my particular power-set that I could find.

All of this culminated in my plans for tonight. I was going to go, and fight crime. With my fists. I had a costume of sorts, although it was more a dark brown hoodie over a black hunter's face wrap that covered my mouth and neck, with jeans and work boots. My hair was bound up and hidden under the hood, and welder's goggles with the glass replaced with one-way mirrored glass completed the ensemble, I had zipties, and two collapsible police batons that I had purchased from a surplus store. I was ready. All I had to do was wait until nightfall. It was 11:46. I groaned, and continued my run, heading towards the library, focusing on my practice of the emotion-sensing aspects of my power.

Waiting sucks.

Later that evening, after I had eaten supper with my dad and waited for his rhythmic snores to shake the windows, I slipped out the door, fully equipped and disguised. I had decided that Synergy would be my cape-name, and I left to test my feet in the water. As I jogged towards the bad parts of town, I spread my awareness to those around me, and lightly touched their minds to expand my range further. As my range spread, so did my awareness and my multitasking ability.

I could see through hundreds of eyes by the time I finally found a crime, or at least suspicious behavior. Thirty men, members of the AZN Bad Boys by their colors, all gripping weapons came into my range, standing in an alley. Through their ears, I heard a speech, heard them getting their adrenaline pumping. I couldn't understand it, I hadn't 'downloaded' whatever Asian language the leader was speaking in. Then, I saw the leader, from thirty viewpoints at once, just as he reached my combined range. A tall, muscular asian man, shirtless, with a massive dragon tattoo and a metal mask. His mind shone like a supernova to me, all fire and violence. When I touched his mind, my range exploded out over one hundred feet from him, and I found four more capes, hiding on the roof tops nearly at the edge of my expanded range.

Lung switched to English. "And when you find those _children_, kill them. Especially the girl. If they are on the ground, put two in their heads, just to be sure." his accent was thick and almost incomprehensible, but I was picking up his languages. Surprisingly, Lung was fluent in Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. I shook my head, I was just distracting myself. Lung was going to kill _kids_. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't bear that on my conscience. I would just have to do more than I had planned. Reveal something I wanted hidden. I reached out and _gripped_ all 31 gang-bangers, and stepped into the mouth of the valley.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your plans, and I'm afraid I disagree with your intentions." I stated pompously. The gang members all turned towards me, and I raised an arm. "_Sleep._" I commanded, and transmitted that command to my foes. 30 AZN Bad Boys dropped like puppets with their strings cut. Lung struggled for a moment, a flare of flame around him, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

I paced over to Lung, bringing the four capes still lurking on the roof, murmuring to each other in awe fully into my personal range. I had some suspicions as to the identity of my stalkers. "Undersiders, come down, if you please."

I confess part of me got a thrill of glee as they all bolted upright, then glanced at the leader. Grue. Tall, entirely covered in biker leathers with a motorcycle helmet leaking darkness. He had, according to my senses, the ability to generate and control a dark cloud of shadows that impaired all five senses. He glanced to the blond girl in the domino mask, but nodded. "We go. She saved our skins. Bitch, down."

Bitch, known as Hellhound to the politically correct, whistled for the dogs that they rode on, and the massive mutated beasts jumped down to street level. I crossed my arms, seeing how I appeared to them. I was a tall, gangly, teenage girl in a cobbled together costume, with one of the most powerful known parahumans snoring at my feet. I loved it. I felt powerful like I never had before. I glanced at the remaining unidentified members of the undersiders. A scrawny ren-fair reject with a scepter could hijack the bodies of others, but didn't have my sensory or multitasking abilities, or even my range. In fact, I suspected he was limited to one person.

The other, a girl in spandex and a domino mask, was a lot more interesting. She was a thinker who could take little bits of information and intuit and extrapolate complete facts like Sherlock Holmes on steroids. She was getting paler and paler as she got closer to me. I raised an eyebrow.

The masked girl threw herself to her knees and bowed before me. "I am at your service, My Queen!"

AN: Yes, Tattletale was a bit over dramatic. Perhaps an interlude should explain. Also, Switching to first person to better match the original.


	5. Intern 1-4

Intern 1-4

I stared down at the Thinker kneeling at my feet, and blinked rapidly several times. She trembled. I could... No. "Get up!" I barked. "I'm not that kind of person!" she stood up slowly, her hands shaking, and looked at me. I realized that I could feel her power analyzing me.

(_Master, complete control of humans in radius around her, varying radius, detects parahumans in radius..._) The girl's eyes widened as I met them. "I'm sorry, It's always best to assume, in cases like this... (_denies urges to control, fears corruption, heroic tendencies, didn't join Wards, authority issues, poor experience with authorities not stopping something? Tied to trigger?_) "... That a Master with the ability to control people has a lust for power. It's just that you have one of the most terrifying powers I've ever encountered." (_triggered in response to lack of control, companionship, need to emote and relate..._)

With an unthinking twist of my power, I paused her thinker abilities. She went to her knees, her eyes bugging out, and bulging with tears. The other three Undersiders tensed, ready to attack, until the girl started laughing, tears trickling down her cheeks. She leapt up and wrapped me in a hug, thanking me over and over at the top of her lungs. "You couldn't do that yourself?" I asked.

"Nope, It's been stuck on for years. You are a relief and a savior, in more ways than one." she broke the hug and stepped back, then offered me a hand to shake. "I'm Tattletale, your new personal minion. Anything you need, I'll get for you." she paused, her head cocked to the side. "But you can turn it back on now, if you like."

I took her hand and shook it, releasing her abilities, and pushing my awareness of them to the back of my mind. "Synergy. You really want to work with me?"

Tattle tale shook her head. "I want to work for you, at least right now. I was in a bind, but, like I said, your power is one of the most terrifying I've encountered, and it can easily counter most things my former _employer_ could throw at me." she shuddered. "I'll tell you more about him later.

I nodded reluctantly. "If you insist, but I can't say I'll be able to support you financially." I indicated the other Undersiders. "What about them?" I could already tell from their stances and body cues that they were unwilling, but I let Tattletale answer anyway.

"Not likely. They have other reasons, I was just coerced. If you want, consider them sla-" I clamped her mouth shut.

"NO!" I barked, then released her mouth to her own control sheepishly. "I won't do that. I can't start that."

"You might not stop." she murmured, her eyes understanding. I nodded.

"I'm so-" I started before she cut me off, nodding.

"I misspoke." she chuckled wryly, "It's kind of my thing. I call myself Tattletale, and I can't even get myself to shut up. They're leaving, by the way."

I nodded, and raised a hand. "Don't leave just yet!" I called. The Undersiders reluctantly turned around and came back nervously. Bitch was nearly growling in anger and frustration, dogs swelling with increased mass as she prepared for a fight. "Apparently, I'm recruiting an organization," I stated wryly, "Any takers? We will be trying to improve this city, and kicking the asses of any gang to get in our way." I gestured at Lung, still snoring behind me. "Case in point."

The tall one, Grue, almost seemed to consider it, but shook his head. "I got bills to pay. You got cash, you can hire us, but as freelancers only." he glanced at the other two, and Bitch frowned at me, then turned her back, while the other guy shrugged before following Grue.

I was tempted to follow, before a cape entered my extended range, pulsing against my senses like a metronome. At this point, my range, following the trail of people on sidewalks, street corners, and apartments, stretched nearly three hundred yards, but when I touched the mind of the new cape, it ballooned around him by nearly two hundred feet, making it easy to keep him in range as he rode his motorcycle. I looked through his eyes, seeing the HUD of a tinker-made helmet, and realized I was piggybacking on the senses of Armsmaster. I quickly turned to Tattletale. "Armsmaster is heading this way. What should we do?"

She frowned slightly. "Can you divert him?"

"Not without making it obvious. I can't make him decide to turn around without directly hijacking his body. And then he'd just be a passenger in a meatpuppet. Not good for pr for someone hoping to become an independent hero." I smirked. "Besides, We need to take big ugly into custody." the situation was rubbing off on my, I was riding an adrenaline high from the way this night had gone.

Tattletale smiled. "Then we call the PRT. Report as a fresh cape, make waves." Then her smile drooped. "Except..." I could feel her power churning, but didn't listen in. "They will not be happy with an under age Master/Stranger combo roaming the streets as an independent, in the company of a known or suspected villain. Best case, we both spend some time in PRT custody. Worst, they decide you're too scary to live."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Too scary to live? And Lung wasn't?"

Tattletale was fishing around in the pockets of the unconscious gang members, looking for a cell phone as she spoke. "Think about it. You are able to detect and control all human minds in a large radius around you, as well as borrow their senses. This range expands around you..." she glanced at me, then corrected herself, "... In a circle around each person at the edge of your range, the radius varying based on their mental strength or agility, or if they are a cape, the strength of their power." She found a phone and handed it to me. "Correction, their core strength, or if they are a mental based power." Tattletale glanced at me to confirm.

I nodded. "Lung got me 100 feet, you got me 200, and Armsmaster is around the same. Speaking of, I think he's on his way here, he just got a message about reported gang activity on his HUD."

Tattletale shivered again. "That is still scary. You could capture him right now, and he'd be helpless." I nodded, and she continued. "On top of that, you can control our powers, or even turn them on and off. Even if they don't typically turn off." she smiled at me over that. "Thanks again, by the way, I get the worst migraines sometimes."

"It's no problem. I could hear your power analyzing me, it was giving me a headache too." I was trying to laugh it off, but Tattletale froze.

"You... You could _hear_ my power?" I nodded. " I thought you weren't a telepath? You're not. Just thinker powers. Possibly tinker and stranger powers, too."

I shrugged. "Not sure, haven't tried yet. I plan on presenting myself as a minor master/stranger who can increase or decrease teamwork in a small area." Tattletale was already shaking her head.

"That won't work, too close to your true skill set to be perceived as safe. Armsmaster is close, isn't he?" I nodded. "You're going to tell him you've been called Slumber. Slumber. Now it's true" she winked. "You can cause people near you to fall asleep, also true." She grinned, and I had a sudden impression of a fox. "Armsmaster is rumored to always know when people are lying."

"I can see the display, a lie detector is built into his visor. 50 feet from the alley." I absently reinforced the sleep command on Lung, forcing his brain deeper into REM. Armsmaster's motorcycle was audible to my own ears now. I walked towards the entrance of the alley, and stopped about twenty feet away from Lung. That ought to give the impression my range was sorter than it actually was. Tattletale stood behind me and to my left, backing me up.

I tapped into her power, just as Armsmaster rounded the corner and pulled into the alley. The headlights on his custom bike were blinding, almost disorienting. (_custom tinker tech, designed for psychological and physiological effects._) The hero dismounted easily and unclasped his signature halberd from his ride, and I saw on his HUD as he linked the weapon to his power armor's computer with a series of eye flicks and blinks. (_ingrained habits, years of practice and constant modification for efficiency, increased difficulty of use if controlled_) Huh. Apparently when I used Tattletale's power, it worked on what I perceived as well. Neat.

Armsmaster paced up, until I could clearly see his blue and silver armor, with a full helmet, a mirrored glass visor covering his upper face. The only exposed skin was his strong chin, graced with a thin beard that looked like it was trimmed with a straight edge. I used the opportunity to glean the hero for skills, as he stared at us. Nothing particularly useful, everything was so integrated with his tinker specialization of efficiency and miniaturization that he didn't have anything I could borrow, but I did copy his encyclopedic knowledge of the rules for Villains and Vigilantes, 1st through 4th editions, just for laughs.

After a minute of studying us, and taking recordings for his database of capes, Armsmaster spoke up. "We received a report of a large gathering of ABB thugs at this address." (_blunt, to the point, poor social skills, relies on cues from lie detector for most social interaction._)

I indicated the piles of snoring thugs behind me, all decked out in gang colors. "I resolved the issue. They were talking about shooting kids. Wouldn't have normally messed with a group that large." All true, to a degree. "Watch out for the one in the dragon mask. He didn't go down easy."

Armsmaster, who was scanning the sleeping criminals and cross-referencing them against his warrants database, looked at me so quickly I almost got whiplash in sympathy. "Lung." he stated. "Where?" (_surprised, jealous, envious, approaching limit of returns from training and miniaturization tinkering, feels obsolete, was hoping to encounter Lung and gain prestige by defeating him._)

Suddenly, I was glad I wasn't planning to join the Wards. If the acknowledged mentor of the Brockton Bay Wards was like this, then I wanted nothing to do with them. "He's this way, sleeping soundly." I lead the way over to the parahuman gang leader, who was, by my own manipulation, curled up, sucking his thumb, and kicking his feet occasionally. Armsmaster stared. I knew he was recording, and I hoped it got out, but I doubted it. Maybe... "This would be a massive blow to his reputation, if it got out." I mentioned casually. The hero gave me a sidelong glance. He'd get the hint. Eventually.

Armsmaster used his halberd to administer a jet of sedatives into Lung's bloodstream, then trussed him up in cables reinforced with carbon nanotubes. He then called a PRT pickup van, and the local police before turning back to Tattletale and me. "How did you take down Lung?" he asked bluntly.

I smiled in reply, figuring that cheerful politeness would be the best way to unsettle him. "I can make people fall asleep in a small area around me." Technically true, though massively understated. I realized that I was overriding Tattletale's urge to giggle, and made a mental note to apologize. Later.

Armsmaster nodded slowly. "Lung escalates the longer he fights, and the longer he fights the better his regenerative abilities and pyrokinesis. I suspect it's based on adrenaline." he frowned slightly. "How do you make people go to sleep?"

I decided to play dumb, but true. "I tell them to go to sleep, and they do. I tell them to wake up, and they do. Not really sure how." His HUD was tagging me as honest, but evasive, which was definitely the case, but he accepted it.

Then he looked at Tattletale, and my heart sank. "Final question. Why are you in the company of Tattletale, a known villain and suspected member of the Undersiders." I released my new ally's mouth so she could defend herself.

"I don't deny that I was an Undersider, but we have never hit any location that was not a criminal operation or a gang. When I met Slumber, I saw a better opportunity. I never wanted a life of crime to begin with." Tattletale smiled sweetly at Armsmaster. "Isn't it the point of being a hero to reform repentant villains?"

Armsmaster frowned deeply, but turned back to me. "Slumber?" I nodded .

"I've been called that." Three times now, and counting.

"Would you be willing to come to the PRT station and make a statement?" I frowned slightly, and I saw his HUD tag my body language as 'reluctance' "You would not be retained or required to register, only asked about tonight's events." he shifted in his boots slightly, and text started scrolling past his eyes, which he parroted woodenly. "I would recommend joining the Wards, however, as you are underage. Statistically speaking, 86 % of teenage parahumans die, become villains, or otherwise meet bad ends in their first month of independent vigilante activities." he stopped, and stared at me. "You both have potential that would be better off not being squandered." Yikes. Blunt.

I made up my mind. "I'll pass. I got in over my head tonight, and got lucky. I make people sleep. Maybe I'll go work at a daycare or something, but I don't think I'm cut out to be a ward." all evasive, but potentially true. I passed his test, and he nodded curtly.

"I can't force you, but I do urge you to reconsider." he looked at Tattletale, and opened his mouth to make the same pitch, before she raised her hand to stop him.

"I feel the same as Slumber, I think I'm just going to be a rogue, or maybe a private investigator. This whole 'superhero' thing is just too _sweaty_." she shuddered theatrically. Armsmaster stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly, scowling.

Armsmaster didn't say another word to us until all the ABB thugs, including Lung, were shipped away in vans. As they slowly left my range, he turned to me. "You did well. The Wards would be proud to have you." Then he jumped on his motorcycle and left.

I turned to Tattletale, and immediately apologized. "Sorry for keeping you quiet for so long. I... well I had a gut feeling. Was it too much?" Much to my surprise, she smiled and scratched the back of her head sheepishly.

"You probably kept him from arresting us both. I never was good at keeping my mouth shut. Luckily I have a new boss who can do it for me." She giggled a little. "Anyway, It's late. Nearly four. I'll meet you at the boardwalk on Tuesday. I'll figure out where." She clamped me in a powerful hug. "Call me Lisa." she whispered in my ear, before turning and sauntering off.

By the time I got home, it was nearly five in the morning. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, burning with shame at how far I had gone beyond what I had planned to be my limits. After the adrenaline wore off, just the fact that I had silenced my new friend without thinking terrified me, much less how easily I took down freaking _Lung_. I was intentionally suppressing my senses, compressing my range down to around ten to twenty feet around me, when I opened the door and stepped into the living room. My first impression was of a ruby red glow. Then my eyes flew open as my range touched the source.

"When the hell did you trigger, Dad?" I yelped, starring at the eight-foot tall, musclebound figure that still bore my father's distinctive features while glowing an incandescent, furious red. Dad's face was angrier than I had ever seen him, and a vein in his temple was pulsing. I faintly noticed that my sense of his mind pulsed in time with the vein before he growled in return, gravelly and deep.

"I could ask the same of you."

AN: And the plot thickens, and Tattletale does her whole 'I know you better than you do' thing, except she doesn't. Revealed some mechanics, clarified some things, etc, etc. Hope ya'll enjoy. I really appreciate all the reviews I have gotten, it is super encouraging to me, a guy who hasn't written in approximately 7 eons. Regarding Spacebattles . Com, I am in a bit of a pickle. I cannot seem to create an account. Is it invitation only or something? Pm me instructions, if you can, and I'll re-post over on that forum as well. That way I can get more interaction with you excellent people.


	6. Interlude 1-4a

Interlude 1-4a - Miscellaneous

In two separate threads of the universe, Coil leaned back in his luxuriously comfortable office chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. In one, Coil had instructed the Undersiders to preemptively engage Lung and the ABB to try and avoid a massed engagement with the entire gang. That had met with, to put it bluntly, miserable failure. The email on the flatscreen monitor in front of him had been sent by a mole in the PRT morgue, positively identifying Tattletale and Regent as casualties. Coil shrugged. Frankly, this timeline had been an exercise in sadism. Tattletale went out of her way to piss him off sometimes, so he did things like this for the catharsis.

Regardless of the circumstances, Coil needed the brat for his long term plans. He collapsed the timeline. In the other, he had instructed the Undersiders to evade and observe the ABB, and he was now reading Tattletale's report on the new cape named Slumber who could put people to sleep, not a power that was unheard of, but rare and useful. Coil tied up a short reply, and wired the fee that he had promised to Tattletale's account. Moments later, he received another email from his unwilling minion. Idly, he opened the message

Dear Coil,

I quit.

Sincerely,

Lisa.

P.S. Fuck you.

Coil gritted his teeth. He split the timeline. From one, his office rang with expletives for hours.

Grue and the remaining Undersiders made it to their lair in silence. Regent had been strangely silent, ever since the new cape had taken down Lung, the maniac who had gone toe to toe with a freaking Endbringer, with nothing but a word. After they had vegged out on the couch with suitably violent video games, Brian turned to Alec. "You've been really quiet tonight, Alec."

"Yeah..." Alec sighed, and shot a zombie in the head. "Just... Lisa left, and somehow, something about that girl left me feeling..." He paused for a moment, finding the right words. "Completely fucking outclassed."

Brian considered that for a moment as he switched weapons. "Yeah. What she did, who she did it to, and how Lisa reacted just left me feeling nervous, like we dodged a bullet. She just felt like... restrained potential."

"Like a pack leader." Rachel chimed in as she wandered by, chewing on some beef jerky, her three dogs bouncing around her feet begging for a piece. She chewed for a moment, then she swallowed. "But not yet. Going for a walk." With that, she left.

Alec and Brian shrugged and kept playing til Brian threw down his controller. "Damn it!"

"What, we were winning?"

"Lisa has the boss's number."

"Fuck."

AN: I know, I know, a short one this time. By the way, big thanks to all those messages with tips! Look for me on Sufficient Velocity!


	7. Intern 1-5

Intern 1.5

When I looked my father in the eye, the faint urge to flee and panic became suddenly overwhelming, yet utterly paralyzing. I began hyperventilating, unable to catch my breath, my knees weak and hands trembling. Dad suddenly looked stricken, and broke eye contact. He bent down and scooped up an iron cannonball that was lying beside his recliner. I had seen it up in the attic before, he had claimed that one of his ancestors had brought it home from a battlefield in the Civil War. I watched as my father picked up a forty pound cannonball and kneaded it like a stress ball, taking deep breaths. The panicked feeling was fading swiftly, and my father began to shrink, his glow diminishing, until he was his normal size, rolling the distorted ball between his hands as he slowly slumped down into his chair.

"I'm sorry, Taylor. When I woke up, and you weren't in your room, I..." he sighed. "I feared the worst. I knew you haven't been the same since the... the... the Locker." a tear trickled down his cheek. I stared. I had never seen my father cry, even when Mom died. "Hell, I haven't been the same. You saw. I just got so _mad_, and I was mad at myself for being a bad father, and at you for going out at night, and _terrified_ that you wouldn't come back." he glanced at me. He didn't say it, but I could see 'like Annette' written across every feature. "And when you came in, dressed like that, I just wanted you to feel like I did." he dropped the warped ball between his feet and sobbed. "I'm sorry, I understand if you can't forgive me."

I sat down on the arm of the chair, and wrapped my father in a deep hug. "I'm sorry too, dad. There's nothing to forgive, I should have told you long ago." Without thinking, my thoughts brushed his mind, and I knew that he could gain impressive strength and durability that increased the madder he got, and induced an aura of terror in those nearby once he passed a certain size. "I triggered in the locker, dad. When I was trapped, dying. I broke, and somehow when I got pulled back together, I could see the minds of people around me, and control their bodies. It's so scary dad, It's as easy as breathing. I feel like I'm holding my breath and closing my eyes all the time, trying not to take control."

I felt the tears pool up in my goggles, and ripped them off, throwing them on the floor, uncovering my face. "I want to make a difference, dad, I want to be a hero, but if they knew what I could do, they'd lock me up or worse." I got up and threw myself down on the couch. "I went out tonight, because I just couldn't take it anymore, I had to do something, I had to prove to myself that I could do the right thing. You know what I found? I can, but it'd be so much easier to do the wrong thing. I took down Lung with barely a thought tonight. Lung, the leader of the ABB, and thirty members of his gang. Just told them to go to sleep, and they did." I groaned deeply at the expression of shock on Dad's face, and explained the whole thing.

Once I got started, everything just poured out, everything I could do, what I was, what I feared I was. I told him about Tattletale, and the plans I had, hidden deep in my heart. I wanted to make things better, and I wanted to make things _stay_ better. No more uneasy truce between racists, thugs and dealers, while aloof protectors watched from afar and posed. I wanted to give Brockton Bay back to it's people. The city I grew up in was dying by degrees, and Dad knew it too.

I could see the passion coming back, light and hope I hadn't seen since Mom was alive and Dad was working in the Dockworker's union, helping his coworkers. He explained what was going on with his workers, how everyone was firing workers, cutting wages, his friends and acquaintances reluctantly joining gangs to feed their families and getting sucked in deeper and deeper, chewed up, and spat out frail husks of what they once were. I had the ideas, he knew where he could find the manpower. Tough men and women in hard times, who refused to compromise their principles. Hard, Honest people who wanted to take back their freedom from fear and tyranny.

There, in a dilapidated living room, in the light of an early dawn, The Union was born. Brockton Bay wouldn't know what hit it.

Two days later, I met Lisa on the board walk. It was crowded enough that my range extended the entire length of the shopping strip and tourist attraction, and I had felt her coming from over a mile away. I gently guided her to where I was by making her index fingers twitch to steer her, and her power did the rest. She walked up, wearing her hair up in a pigtail, bangs and large designer shades covering her eyes, wearing expensive, but nondescript clothes.

As she walked straight by me, in my comfortable jeans and a hoodie, I made two of the thugs in suits following her get in a fist fight with the security guards, and the remaining lurker, a muscular woman sitting on a park bench, fell asleep, her newspaper covering her face. I also looted all of their paramilitary training. Lisa smirked, and I wandered off, and we made our way separately to a nice burger restaurant that was about two steps ahead of a burger king, and three steps back from Fugly Bob's. When we got there, she wrapped me in a hug again, almost squealing in glee as the giggles that she had been repressing were let loose. "That was so cool!" she looked at me, and smiled. "You're feeling better. You told somebody else... Your Dad... And he's cool with you being a freelance vigilante."

I grinned as we sat down. "Even better, he wants to help."

Lisa blinked. "Really? He... wants to help? He wants to help. And he is able to help because..." she looked at my face closely, then muttered to herself under her breath. I forced myself to keep from listening in, while I read the posted menus through four different sets of eyes, and sampled the flavors of several different dishes. Yes, I live vicariously through others. Lisa sat up. "Either he has contacts and connections, or he's a cape too." She laughed again, then sobered. "Both. He triggered when you did."

I nodded slowly. "My name is Taylor Hebert." Lisa's eyes widened. "Yes, That Taylor Hebert." The Locker had been on the news briefly, and I had made an anti-bullying statement or two. "My dad is with the Dockworkers Union, and knows quite a few good, honest people who are out of work. I'm assuming you have capital?"

Lisa nodded. "Close to 1 million, in assorted secure accounts. Nothing truly illegal, but every time the Undersiders hit a job, I skimmed quite a bit off the top, and I ransacked my boss's accounts when I resigned. All proceeds courtesy of the Vigilante Act of '89, which makes it legal to claim monetary funds collected in the process of stopping a crime. Which, technically, we were."

I grinned. "I've got the power, Dad has the people, and you've got the cash. Let's get started."

Lisa looked at her lap. "There's one more thing. I... kindaneedtomoveinwithyou."

I blinked and parsed the sentence. "You need to move in?" she nodded. "To be safe from your former boss." She nodded again. I sat and thought for a moment. I had told Dad the basics of Lisa's position, and he knew what it was like to have a nasty boss and be in a bad position. In fact, I had learned that Mom had been a hench-woman for Lustrum, before the radical feminist parahuman got sent to the Birdcage. We could take her in, even had a guest room. I stuck out my hand. "Welcome to the family." Lisa nearly leapt across the table trying to hug me, happy tears flowing down her cheeks.

Preparations went well over the next few weeks. I clued in Lisa on my last unrevealed skill, the ability to copy mundane skills, and we promptly went on a day trip to several banks and stock exchanges, where I picked up the accumulated experience of about 500 years of stockbroking and banking. While it was illegal for a registered Thinker or Master to trade stocks, I had discovered that I could loan my copied skills to other people. While the effect wasn't permanent, it had lasted long enough for Dad, who was not a Thinker in any way, to nearly double our starting capital.

We had found and purchased an abandoned warehouse near the abandoned Boat Graveyard, a massive pile of derelict, overturned boats of all shapes and sizes, a massive resource to those with the skill to use it, but a massive eyesore and obstruction to shipping, even coastal shipping which wasn't affected as much by the presence of Leviathan. We had put out feelers on ParaHumans Online, seeking Tinkers in the area who were looking for work and resources, and had found several, but most would not fit what Lisa and I had in mind.

Dad took a week's vacation, and we all went on several tours of area attractions. If they happened to go by military bases and engineering firms... well, that could be argued to be a happy coincidence. Finally, we arrived at our true destination, a little house in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. It was a simple house, little more than a converted mobile home, but it was completely outclassed by the massive prefabbed aircraft hanger that was set half-way into the side of a cliff. I walked up to the door, flanked by Dad on my right, and Lisa on my left.

Excuse me, flanked by Havok on my right, and Intuit on my left. We were all in costume, or something close. I had switched from my original, improvised costume to a snazzy women's business suit in dark gray pinstripes, Tinkertech formal high heels with automatic gyroscopes that improved balance, and a matching pinstriped domino mask, with corrected lenses set into the eye holes. My hair was up in a tight bun. Lisa was in a matching dress and mask in dark blue, while Dad wore a black suit that was specially designed to keep a sharp cut, while flexing to match his size, while being mostly bulletproof. Right now, he was intentionally fuming about minor annoyances, and stood at nearly seven feet tall, bulging with muscles and starting to tint red. He wouldn't produce his fear aura until after he hit the eight-foot mark, and that would be extremely counter productive.

I rang the buzzer next to the door, and the intercom set in above it came to life with a crackle. "I'll be there in a moment, just gimme a sec!" shouted a distorted voice. I smirked. In moments, the door swung open. I looked straight ahead, and then my eyes drifted down. Huh. Hadn't expected that.

The man we had arranged to meet was a well built man, tanned brown from the sun, with bleached blonde hair in a crew cut, probably in his mid to late thirties. He was also sitting in a wheelchair. He thrust out one callused, scared, but freshly scrubbed hand. "The name's Grunt. Or that's what I go by."

I shook the proffered hand firmly. "Synergy. My companions are Havok and Intuit." His grip was firm and confident. "A pleasure to meet you. I was quite impressed with your portfolio. The FARES, in particular, are very similar to what we are looking for."

Grunt beamed. "Yes, the Fire And Rescue Exoskeleton System, one of my best products. I am extremely proud of that one, saved hundreds of lives, both rescue workers and civilians." He span his chair around, and rolled inside. "Come in." we followed him into a den that, while pleasant and clean, showed signs of rare use. A shadowbox with a folded American flag and a collection of military medals held a place of honor , with multiple recliners and a couch placed around a coffee table. Grunt wheeled over to one of the recliners and levered himself into it with ease, his legs dragging limply.

"So, you're looking for something like the FARES, huh?" He pronounced it FAH-res. "Full body containment, enclosed atmospheric system, durable enough to take a beating, but simple enough that regular mechanics can take care of it?" He grinned again. I was starting to like him. "But you want something slightly different." He looked us over carefully. "You know I don't do combat gear, right? Bound by my contracts for independence from the PRT and their band of meddlers."

Havoc nodded. "We're looking more for construction gear. We need to protect mundane workers while they dismantle and salvage wrecked ships, above ground and underwater, in potentially hostile territory. Power assisted, fully immersible, on-board cutting and gripping gear, whatever else you think should go on. You're the Tinker." Lisa and I had decided that Dad should do the negotiating, as that was truly his area of expertise. I reached out and touched Grunt's mind, his aura reminding me of gears and pistons moving, while somehow looking completely different. He was glancing between the three of us, his expression unreadable.

"You're from Brockton Bay." he stated, coolly. "Gang central. The 'Asshole of the East'" I winced, but nodded. "How do I know that my tech isn't going straight into the hands of the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

I spoke up. "We are prepared to offer you a contract for twenty of these new suits, but what we would really prefer is if you would come to Brockton Bay yourself, so you can oversee your work. So you can know that we are using your technology to improve the quality of life in the city. We have a large warehouse that you can refurbish to your specifications and use as a manufacturing center. You would be a full member of The Union, and entitled to an equal share of any profits we acquire." I smiled. "And you would have the satisfaction of seeing first hand the good work your products are doing."

Grunt was nodding thoughtfully. "Hmmm... You raise good points. But, I will have to think about it. This is getting dangerously close to the disaster, and I don't want to get burned. Either way, I am still going to design you those suits. I've done some construction suits, and some underwater suits, but never one that's both." He clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. "Well, It's time for the tour!" he exclaimed, and slipped into his wheelchair before rolling away swiftly.

Before we followed him, Lisa pulled me aside. "He wants to join us, but he's nervous about it. He's been chafing lately, no new demand or ways to innovate. This is something new and shiny, and he wants in." I smiled.

"Then we open the door."

We followed Grunt to an elevator, where we went down some indeterminable distance before coming out into an antechamber. The decor was very much a practical setting, just a poured concrete floor and corrugated steel walls painted an off-gray with florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. Grunt noticed my eyes wandering. "I'm not selling you something pretty. I'm selling something that works, that keeps working, that goes from here to eternity and back, and asks for more. If you want something to walk into Hell and come back dancing, I'm your man. Otherwise, as my pappy from England used to say, 'Bugger off.'" He grinned and chuckled. "But if you wanted something pretty, you wouldn't be here anyway." he rolled over to a closet off of the main door, and lifted himself up with a chin-up bar. A pair of mechanical arms came out, and strapped a metallic framework to his legs. The paraplegic dropped nimbly to his feet, now shod in metal boots treaded with tire rubber. "Felt like stretching my legs a bit, anyway."

A fist to a large red button on the wall made a pair of twenty foot tall doors slide slowly open, spotlights coming on in pairs along the sides of the massive hallway. Under the lights were examples of Grunt's work. "Welcome to the Gallery." He exclaimed, jogging in. We all beamed, his enthusiasm was infectious. And the equipment was exactly what we wanted.

Typically, most mainstream tinkers are capable of making power armor, streamlined armor that gave a minor boost to strength while protecting the wearer and maintaining agility. Grunt specialized in building suits that were less power armor, and more along the lines of wearable construction equipment. In fact, that was exactly what most of this was. Most of the suits were massive, seven to nine feet tall and built thick and heavy, with exposed hydraulics and heavy bolts. Every connection was double and triple bolted, sturdy and secure, well lubed, and armor plated to near indestructibility. We walked along, looking at various suits designed for deep earth mining, construction work, controlled demolitions, anything where you needed an expert and wanted to get him back.

A very common theme was massively recessed helmets with shoulders and roll-bars over the top of the helmet. Another was the colors. Every suit was brightly colored in a brilliant yellow, lime green, fire-engine red, even one that was violently pink and covered in strobe lights and polished omnidirectional reflectors. Grunt paused by that one. "Everyone asks about this one. This is designed for ash-cloud rescue, or anywhere visibility is an issue. It's also got built in sirens and speaker systems that play warning messages." he grew very grim. "This one saw use in the aftermath of a Behemoth attack. That one-eyed bastard decided to make a volcano erupt in the middle of a city. This baby braved the ash clouds, and probably saved fifty or sixty by itself." He waved a hand to the others lining the walls. "Everything here has been through the wars and back. I don't put a suit in the Gallery unless it has unequivocally saved its wearer's life at least once."

He indicated a FARES model suit, fire-engine red with lime green caution stripes, a massive fire extinguisher cannon poking over one shoulder on a swivel mount. On one arm, a pair of hydraulic expansion shears were mounted. The whole suit was seared black on one side. "This is Bessie, one of the first FARES suits. She survived a nuclear meltdown. I sat in that damn thing for a week solid, smelling my own b.o. and sipping on nutrient paste until they manged to get the bloody roof off of me. I walked out under my own power, and then still had to wait a day until they had washed enough of the radiation to get me out safely. The doctor said I took more radiation getting out of it for a few seconds than I did sitting in a melted down reactor for a week." Grunt patted the suit on its burnt arm. "I did a good job with that one, and it's really what kicked off my sales."

It took a couple of hours of tours and explanations, but we finally made it to Grunt's design office. In four, we knocked out a preliminary design for an eight foot tall submersible suit, painted bright yellow, with swiveling searchlights, and deploy-able waldos to hold beams and materials in place while the primary arms worked. Both arms had adaptable sockets for assorted heavy industrial tools, including a cutting torch that worked underwater. The suits were could lift enormous weights with their hydraulic actuators, and powered by a hyper-efficient hydrogen fuel cell that could last for weeks at life support levels, and actively refilled and filtered water to split and reconvert when underwater. When asked about the armor-plating, Grunt went into an explanation about nano-molecular laminate that went over all our heads, but he assured us through experience that that the suits could have buildings fall on them and come out fine, and not to even worry about bullets. The operator was cradled in shock resistant foam, and an on-board re-breather, air scrubber, and nutrient paste guaranteed safe, albeit miserable, operation for up to two weeks.

As we wrapped up the design, Grunt leaned back in his office chair and observed us for a moment. Finally, he sighed. "Screw it, I'm gonna regret this, but I'm in."

I stood and shook his hand. "Welcome to The Union."

An: Major thanks to Cosmoline from Sufficient Velocity for the initial concept for Grunt. Read and enjoy, folks, and come see me on the forum, I'm pretty active on my thread.


	8. Interlude 1-5a

Interlude 1.5a – Aftermath & Consequences

Armsmaster strode through the hall, going over his upcoming presentation on his HUD while he made his way to the conference room, the assorted PRT officers and personnel standing out of his way as he moved quickly. He frowned slightly as he reviewed the report. Armsmaster hated this, but it was necessary. His entire life was devoted to being a hero, and in order to do that effectively, he had to devote a significant number of man-hours to training, improving his equipment, and patrols. He could think of at least 27 distinct things that he could be working on instead of giving this report. Honestly, couldn't Director Piggot read an email? His tertiary halberd needed an overhaul and he projected that he could gain a 8% increase in power efficiency on his motorcycle if he rerouted the inducer manifold... Armsmaster lost himself in his tinkering plans until his mapping software flashed an alert that he was about to reach the door of the conference room. He checked his clock. 8:59 AM, right on time. The hero opened the door and stepped inside.

Inside the spacious conference room was a pair of screens that took up two entire walls, as well as a table with comfortable chairs spaced around it. Sitting at the head of the table was Director Piggot, a short, overweight woman who looked slightly sickly, glared at Armsmaster in vague irritation. The remaining chair was occupied by Miss Militia, who looked up from a tablet she was reviewing and smiled. "Armsmaster." The director said in greeting. Armsmaster nodded, and stepped over to the interface for one of the screens.

At precisely 9:00, the other screen popped up a window, showing the digital face of Dragon. Armsmaster smiled at her. He was... _fond_ of Dragon. She wasn't as unpleasant to talk to as most people, and she was able to discuss and assist his work without needing tremendous amounts of explanation, unlike even most tinkers. She smiled back. "Hello, everyone. Are we ready to begin?"

Armsmaster nodded. "As you know, fifteen days ago, Lung and several normal AZN Bad Boys were captured by a previously unknown cape in an improvised costume, tentatively named Slumber. Said cape has been temporarily classified as a stranger 3, based on her stated ability to put people to sleep at a distance." Armsmaster glanced at Dragon, who nodded. "I disagree with that assessment. My review of the video and statistics from my armor interface indicated that my reaction time was slowed by about fifty to sixty microseconds, which is otherwise negligible, but when it suddenly started when I came within four hundred feet of Slumber, and ended after I left that area, one is lead to be suspicious."

Director Piggot frowned. "You didn't mention that in your initial report."

"I was not aware of the issue until I ran the diagnostics four days ago." Armsmaster growled. "I had a gut feeling that Slumber was more than she appeared, but no evidence." With an eye-flick, he scrolled through his notes. "She was in the company of Tattletale, a member of the Undersiders and a known villain. They both claimed that they had no actual criminal records, and intended to retire from cape related activities. Slumber, in particular, expressed an interest in rogue activities. Since that time, neither Slumber nor Tattletale has been seen."

Dragon spoke up. "When Armsmaster informed me of what happened, I started monitoring for signs of thinker activity sourced in Brockton bay, and eventually discovered, through a great deal of effort I might add, several unusual patterns of investments that can be traced." Several complex financial charts came into view on Dragon's screen. "The first is probably the simplest. A group of several investments from apparently unrelated sources that, over the past several months, consistently sold enough stock to make a profit one day before the stocks took a sudden plunge." Dragon highlighted these trends. "I suspect that they are tied to the villain Coil, but that's more of a educated guess than anything else." Dragon highlighted a separate series of transactions. "These stock trades happened in the past five days, and are unusual in that they are rarely owned for more than a day, and in that they are newer 'young' stocks that have a higher relative growth rate. They are tied to Brockton Bay through IP traces, but the patterns don't tie to any known villain. The sheer amount of transactions, however, is surprising, with an estimated profit margin that may be as high as one million dollars."

Director Piggot frowned. "Is there any way to tie either of these pattens more firmly to Thinker activity?"

Dragon shook her head. "Not really. It's fairly difficult to actually prove Thinker involvement in the stock market, barring blatant examples."

Piggot sighed. "Fine." She glanced at Armsmaster. "Any relevance to the issues with Slumber or Tattletale?"

"None that are apparent at this time." Armsmaster admitted. He continued with his report. "Given the Ignoble nature of Lung's defeat, we have word that Bakuda has defected and left the city. Oni Lee has taken command of the ABB, and we anticipate him trying to rescue Lung at his prisoner transfer. There are rumors of another cape joining the ABB, but they are completely unsubstantiated, but we will be cautious." Armsmaster pulled up a map of Brockton Bay. "The ABB has lost ground to both the Empire 88 and the Merchants, but not a significant amount. Oni Lee is focusing on holding his ground, and the Empire has always been fairly cautious."

"Your recommendations, Armsmaster?" Director Piggot asked.

"Increased patrols and presence in the gang borders, to act as a deterrent to violence, and, barring that, to pick up as many gang members as possible." The hero stated quickly. "Additionally, note Slumber's file that she may or may not have a Master capability."

Piggot nodded. "Consider it done. Any word on the status of that kidnapped Alcott girl?"

"None at all. Some of her friends said she started talking about percentages shortly before she was kidnapped, so she may be a cape, and it is likely that the Travelers were hired to rob the bank as a distraction, but we have no leads." Dragon stated sadly. "It's a shame, no matter who she's related to." She shook her head. "And Panacea's recovery is going well, we are bringing in Medicae and Transfusion to repair some of the damage she suffered from Ballistic's attack."

"And the case against Glory Girl for his death?" Piggot asked.

"Brandish is arguing it as self-defense. They'll most likely win, but Glory Girl is willingly behind bars until the case is completed. There are, of course, the standard Endbringer protocols."

"Fine" Piggot grunted, obviously displeased. "I don't like it when any cape kills someone and gets away with it, hero or villain, but Brandish is a damn good lawyer. Anything else?"

"One minor thing," Armsmaster stated. "There was an abandoned warehouse near the bay that was purchased several days ago under a little-known law that allows a parahuman organization to legally purchase property. It was purchased by an organization known as The Union, but the last known cape organization by that name perished in 1997 against the Behemoth." Armsmaster sighed. "I only mentioned it because both Slumber and Tattletale mentioned they were considering being rogues."

Miss Militia, who had been silent the entire time, spoke up. "What was your impression of their intentions and sincerity?"

Armsmaster paused for a moment, composing his thoughts. It had to be _that _question. "They did tell the truth, but there were some outlier indications that it wasn't the whole truth. They were particularly specific about Slumber's cape name and her powers. I suspected at the time that they had heard rumors that I had a lie detector, but I didn't call them on it. They did seem sincere, however."

Miss Militia tapped her chin with a finger in thought, the knife on her hip dissolving in a burst of green light and reforming as a wickedly spiked gauntlet. "Is it possible that Slumber has a much higher power rating, but she is concerned about reactions to it?"

Armsmaster blinked in surprise. "It... is possible." he grudgingly admitted. "That would fit with some of my equipment readings. I'll make a note that she is a potentially high rated master/stranger, with forced sleep as one potential ability."

"In that case," Miss Militia continued, "Would it not be reasonable to reach out to her and reassure her that she would not be ostracized for having a power that is beyond her control, or for having a power that would scare most people, but choosing not to use it?"

Armsmaster nodded sharply. "I'll keep that in mind if we encounter her, and I'll add it to the briefing."

Director Piggot sat back in her chair and watched the two heroes continue to discuss the potential power ratings of the new cape in town. She was contemplating that as well... If a parahuman didn't want to reveal their power, and they were willing to demonstrate their ability to force humans to sleep, even someone as powerful as Lung, then what else could they force people to do? There were documented capes with the ability to implant post-hypnotic suggestions, become invisible, force others to ignore them, and dozens of other mind-altering powers. Was it even possible to directly control people? Director Piggot repressed a shudder. Was that the line that she couldn't stand to cross? To recruit a cape who could manipulate a person like a puppet on a string? With a start, she noticed Armsmaster and Miss Militia looking at her. She waved a hand. "Continue, I was lost in thought."

Armsmaster nodded. "We have agreed that it is unlikely that the cape currently designated Slumber will continue to use that name, and are going to recommend increasing the routine master/stranger screenings for Wards, Protectorate, and PRT personnel. We are also going to recommend a 'friendly but cautious' approach to any new capes that seem to demonstrate mental effects in the next few months."

With a frown, Director Piggot nodded. "That seems reasonable. I'll implement it." She glanced between the two heroes. Armsmaster glanced between the two heroes. Armsmaster was as stoic as ever, if a little frustrated at having the meeting, which was admittedly a primary motivator in not just reading an emailed report. Miss Militia, on the other hand, seemed to be deep in thought. Piggot raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head.

"It was nothing. Just a thought." With a frown, Piggot nodded. Miss Militia was sometimes a little too perceptive.

"Then, if there is nothing else?" the director asked. Both heroes shook their heads, so Piggot levered herself to her feet and left the room.

Dragon spoke up. "You didn't mention that the Undersiders have effectively dissolved."

Armsmaster shrugged. "They were just a minor gang, never violent, no territory bids, just hassling the other gangs, and even then, not enough to matter. There's not really much point to bringing them up." he glanced at the screen with his friend's picture. "How's the Endbringer prediction software?"

Dragon smiled. "Nearly complete. All it needs is a final debug and I'll run it to see what it suggests."

Armsmaster nodded. "Let me know." He promptly left the room.

Miss Militia glanced at Dragon's simulated face. "He'll figure it out someday, be patient." Dragon seemed to sigh.

"I know." The screen went blank. Miss Militia shook her head and chuckled under her breath as she left.

Five minutes later, an email from Grunt notifying the PRT of his move into Brockton Bay and his new location was inadvertently filed as spam and deleted. Over the next three days, fifteen semi-trailers full of manufacturing equipment and materials were moved into The Union's new headquarters.

AN: Sorry about the delay on the release of this chapter.


	9. Supervisor 2-1

Supervisor 2.1

It was, all in all, a good week. I honestly wondered if I was in danger of jinxing myself by thinking that, but everything had gone well. It had taken three days to get Grunt moved into his new warehouse and everything set up for the construction of the new power suits, which we had eventually decided to call the ACADES, or Amphibious Construction And Demolition Exoskeletal System. By the end of the week, Grunt had built and manufactured six of the bright yellow ACADES, and they were ready for testing.

I grimaced as I slipped into a modified wetsuit. Grunt had explained that it was laced with sensors that traced and interpreted the movement of my muscles, but that meant that it needed to be skin tight. I wasn't happy about that, but at least I wouldn't be out in public like this. With my hair pulled up and bound tight and a transparent dome over my face, containing the connections for the radio, re-breather, and HUD interface, I felt I looked like a stick figure with my picture pasted to it. Synergy's mask covered the top half of my face. I slipped into a large bathrobe and stepped out of the small changing room.

Even with just my dad, Lisa, and Grunt in the room, I felt tremendously uncomfortable as I walked towards my new armor. ACADES-3 had been configured for my use, and it stood wide open, the chest panels folded down into a set of ladder rungs that reached the ground. I reached the bright yellow armor and froze. Lisa gave me a thumbs up and a vulpine grin. Dad smiled too, dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt stretched tight over his muscles. He elbowed Grunt in the ribs.

At some point, the Tinker had explained that, even though he really didn't wear a mask or have a secret identity, he preferred to go by his cape name. Something about how Edna and Larry Slaw shouldn't have named their son Murphy. Grunt patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry; everybody gets self-conscious in those suits." He was wearing his walking frame today, letting him move without the wheelchair.

Dad spoke up. "We won't watch if you don't want us to, Taylor." I shuddered, but shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, before I dropped the bathrobe and quickly climbed up into the suit. I set my feet firmly in the braces inside the legs of the suit, about halfway down the calf. The legs were bulky enough that there was plenty of room for my slender limbs. Dad and Grunt helped me buckle my torso into the harness inside the bulky chest cavity as I slipped my hand into two mechanical gloves set into the forearms of the gigantic suit. Finally, two bulky cables of wires were plugged into sockets on the shoulders of my suit, and the ACADES shuddered to life. My HUD lit up bright blue, system statuses scrolling along the side of the plastic dome covering my face, before the chest cavity closed and the opaque helmet slammed shut. I heard servos locking everything shut, and then felt shock absorbing fluid fill in around me. Finally, the world exploded into light around me, as pinhole cameras transmitted a perfect view of the world onto my HUD, moving as I looked around. The radio crackled with Dad's voice, as I looked down at him.

"Taylor, how are you feeling in there?"

I grinned wildly. "This is awesome, dad, I can't wait to get started."

The euphoria lasted through nearly six hours of testing the various systems and sub-systems, but the definite high point was the rush I felt as my plasma cutting lance sheered through a one-inch steel plate like a hot knife through butter. I could move tons of metal with barely any effort, I could walk on the bottom of the bay, or power through the murky water with the jets on my backpack. Somehow, driving this suit made me feel more like a superhero than anything else I had done.

As I stomped back to the charging station, I couldn't help but grin. Dad had found five out-of-work dockworkers to be the pilots of the other six suits for our public works debut. I hadn't met them yet, but that was coming soon. We would start work on demolishing and recycling the Ship Graveyard in just a few days. Grunt had unveiled something he had designed in the early days of his tinker career that he called a Steel Deoxidizer. I had no clue how it worked, but when you put steel scrap in the hopper, and kept the hydrogen fuel cells charged, it extruded out molten steel bars.

That night, safe at home in my room, I reached out, and tapped Lisa's finger. I saw through her eyes as she glanced at it, then she looked in the mirror over her dresser. "Hello, Taylor. You want to talk." It wasn't a question. I tapped her finger twice. She sighed. "This is just going to be tiresome if you keep doing that. I'll get a migraine. Just... borrow my mouth for a bit." She smirked. "Or you can come to my room." To be fair, it was just down the hall, but I was exhausted. It had been a very long day. It was as easy as breathing to 'borrow' my friend's mouth

"I just wanted to chat." It felt simultaneously bizarre and yet completely natural to hear my own words come from Lisa's lips. "But I think I need some advice first." I released my control for a moment.

"Wow that's freaky, but so insanely cool." Lisa grinned. "You want to exercise your power more. You _want_ to practice, but you're scared you'll go too far. Don't worry." Her smile grew wicked. "I know you'll be gentle."

I snap Lisa's jaw up, and tried to make a stern expression, but couldn't quite manage it over both our urges to giggle. "Fine, let me try this then." I took control.

I/we was/were Taylor. We were Synergy. If speaking through Lisa's mouth was easy as breathing, letting myself control her entirely was as easy as thought. We were one. In Lisa's skin, I moved as easily as in my own. My many borrowed skills flowed back and forth like water, not like when I _pushed_them to her when just riding behind her eyes. I could feel her power analyzing the connection, theorizing that, as more people were controlled, my thoughts would grow quicker, faster, as I gained more brainpower to use as processor space. Without a thought, I reached out and _controlled_ my own father, then the policeman walking down the street, the sleepers in the buildings around us, the homeless man digging through the garbage behind my neighbor's house – with a wrench, I jerked back into my own body, and fell to the floor clutching my stomach. I heaved, almost vomiting, the taste of bile flooding my mouth at what I had nearly done. What I nearly was.

Lisa threw my door open and helped me onto my bed, holding me tightly. Dad ran up the stairs, and I saw him look in the door, and stand there, unsure of what was going on. I looked right into Lisa's eyes. "I'm a monster."

"A monster wouldn't have thrown up when she realized." Lisa – my friend – countered. "A monster wouldn't have been so scared to try it." I realized I was looking into my own eyes, and forced myself completely out of Lisa's head. For the first time in weeks, I was limited to my own personal senses. I felt blind, deaf, numbed. I felt alone, even held there by my friend. Lisa held me as I cried myself to sleep.

The next day I woke up in her arms. It was...nice, not anything sexual, just peace and comfort of not being alone. I let my senses expand through my full range, lightly touching every mind I could see, and saw the beautiful morning. Somehow, in my dreams of losing myself, I had found resolve. I would make this terrible, wonderful power into a force for good. I woke up in Lisa's body and helped myself get out of bed. I could tell her mind was still somewhat asleep, and sent it a gentle rush of hormones to wake her up. She flailed wildly before glaring at me.

"Don't do that, I was having a nice dream!" I raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. Huh. Didn't know that she even did that. "No, it wasn't like that and you know it. I know you can't read minds." I laughed, and threw a pillow at her. I heard our giggling through Dad's ears, and felt his smile. All was right in the world again.

After a quick breakfast, we returned to our headquarters. Today, we would meet the new operators of the ACADES. We ducked into an abandoned alley near the Warehouse to change. The nice thing about suits made of tinker cloth is that they don't wrinkle or stain. Fully attired as Synergy, Havok, and Intuit, we entered the double doors of the Warehouse, Union headquarters. Dad was peaked at about seven feet tall again. I had asked him one time how he kept his size up, since it required anger to work. His answer? "The Mayor." Yikes.

Grunt strode up, wearing his walking kit under a matching tinker-made suit with an added overcoat with extra pockets, all in a classy dark brown, pinstriped with dark gray thread. For once, he was wearing a mask, although his had welding glasses hidden in the eye holes. "You know, I was skeptical when you showed up with this theme, but it is really classy. Like super-lawyers or something."

I chuckled. "We are The Union. We represent. With style." Lisa snorted.

Grunt grinned, and gestured at a side door leading to the waiting room. "Shall we? They're all waiting for us." I nodded, and we all approached the room. Even from here, I could feel five minds waiting, but I didn't touch them yet. I wanted my first impression to come through my own eyes. I did notice that one burned brighter than the others. Why was there a cape here?

Havok opened the door, and Intuit and I entered first. I looked over the five waiting workers. A burly, balding, older man, who was probably in his mid-40s, was sitting in a chair reading a magazine. His arms were heavily muscled, and covered with wiry gray hair. He looked up at us as we entered, nodded, and glanced back down at his magazine. I noticed he was chewing on a cheap unlit cigar. Next to him, a short, wiry woman with brown hair trimmed to a pixie cut stared as we entered the room, enthralled at seeing four obvious capes, much like the Asian man on the other side of the room. A tall, blond man in his thirties leaned in the corner, watching everything with a cautious eye, while the final person in the room stopped pacing and span round. When he saw Intuit, his eyes went wide. He was tall, muscular, and dark skinned, quite attractive, actually. Intuit froze.

"Brian?" I reached out and touched Brian's mind, and got an impression of flowing, grasping shadows. Huh. We had just hired Grue.

"Ah, shit." he groaned. "I can't believe this." I raised an eyebrow. "I'll tell you later, I swear, I just need a job, a real job." I felt Lisa nodding.

"Fine, you'd better have a good explanation." I stated flatly. Brian's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes." Intuit whispered. Thank goodness for Thinkers. I tapped into her powers. (_Brian needs legitimate job, not working for previous boss. Unable to contact, was cut loose, Undersiders dissolved. Has funds saved up, needs job for other reasons. Family issues. Custody battle for...sibling. Needs proof of income to win custody._)

I nodded firmly. "Barring irreconcilable differences, The Union would be happy to make an arrangement." Brian's relief was palpable.

The introductions and interviews went well, all told. We had quickly decided that Eli Daniel, the tall blonde man, would be the tentative head of the armored team. He was quick, had good instincts, and had an easy manner that made him a pleasure to get along with. Janey Brooks was a woman who was down on her luck, perpetually homeless, and almost painfully altruistic, almost bordering on masochistic. She was an only child of dead parents, and had no family or anyone to support. She outright stated in our brief interview that she wanted to be fired first, if firing had to be done, since no one was depending on her. That being said, when we offered to finance a cheap apartment for her as part of her wages, her smile lit up the room. The only downside was that Grunt took one look at her diminutive frame, and practically rushed out of the room, muttering about adjustments to her new suit.

William Windsor was a polite, soft-spoken gentleman who had emigrated from England years ago, and had decades of experience as a dockworker before the job crisis hit and he became unemployed. While he was gray and balding, and had a stout beer gut, he was still built very powerfully, and had the air of a beloved uncle about him. I could see a spark of fire and quiet resolve in his eyes, though, and knew that when a time came to stand, he would be a pillar of strength for The Union.

Jyouji "George" Miyake was a refuge from Kyushu who had moved to Brockton Bay after Leviathan's devastating attack. He was lithe, energetic, and very well educated, but a bit of a geek. He also harbored a seething hatred for the ABB for reasons that he didn't disclosed, and was practically jumping in glee when I informed him that after the primary clean-up phase in Brockton Bay, we would offer discounted disaster relief and salvage services for the aftermath of Endbringer attacks. "I _hate_ the Leviathan." He explained. "He destroyed my home, my family. I cannot avenge their deaths. That would be stupid." Jyouji drooped in his chair for a moment, before straightening up. "But! The Leviathan seeks to destroy! If I fix what he destroys, with all my power, that is my revenge." Needless to say, we all were very fond of Jyouji.

The interview with Brian was the most intense. As soon as he closed the door to the small office behind him, Lisa wrapped him in a huge hug. "I'm sorry I left like that, I just saw an opportunity and I had to take it, it was the only way. The boss was going to kill me eventually. I could tell." Brian patted her back awkwardly. I could tell that she had never done anything like that to him, had never let herself be affectionate, and a surge of Lisa's power told me that Brian wasn't used to physical affection either.

"So, since you changed your cape name, you must be laying low." He reasoned, once Lisa had released him and brushed the creases out of her dress. "That means that Synergy is the girl who gave Lung a nap." He grinned. "Thanks for that, by the way, you really saved our skins. How did you do it?"

I leveled him with a stare. "I can control everyone around me, down to their automatic processes. If I wanted, his heart would have stopped beating. I didn't want to." Brian blanched.

Lisa nodded. "Why do you think I defected? She's awesome. Got to be a Master 8 or 9." I snorted, and Lisa went through a few steps of an Irish jig. "Make that Master 10."

Brian chuckled, and everyone joined in. "I think I'm gonna like it here. So, what's the game?" I froze. "You know, the game. What is this a cover for?" Lisa blanched as my eyes grew hard. Behind me, Havok started to swell in size as he realized what Brian was implying.

I stared Brian right in the eye, freezing him in place. "There is no game. There is no cover. This organization, this Union, is, _exactly_ what it appears to be. We are a group of people who are trying to make this city, and later, this world, a better place. If that is a _scam_, then perhaps there is less place for you in this organization than I thought." Havok was ten feet tall, stooped over, straining the seams of his suit, glowing fire red and exerting all his considerable anger at focusing his terror aura directly at the ex-Undersider. I released my control, and Brian crumpled boneless to the floor. "Do you understand now? This is a job for Brian, a young man trying to protect his sister, not a job for Grue, rookie supervillian down on his luck." Brian, laying on the floor trembling, could only nod. I relaxed, and helped him to his feet, as I began to help my dad calm down in the way only I could, by stimulating his body to produce serotonin and forcibly relaxing his muscles.

Slowly, Brian pulled himself together, and my father slowly shrunk down to approach a more normal size. "Yes, I do want to do that. I need to be more than Grue, I think." He shook his head slowly. "Be more for Aisha." he muttered to himself. The only reason I heard was that I was still listening through his ears. I stopped quickly.

"You're in. We won't make you do anything you don't want to do; you don't even have to be an active cape if you don't want to." Intuit held out her hand. "Welcome to The Union, Mr. Laborn."

We all stepped out of the office together, and were swiftly joined by Grunt, wiping grease off his suit with a rag. I nodded at him. It was time. I led Brian to the waiting room where the other four members were waiting for us. I let him join his coworkers before I lined up next to Havok, Intuit, and Grunt. "I just want to thank you all for joining us. Together, we can start to make the world a better place. As we work and grow, our ranks will expand, and the little deeds we do will expand, and ripple, and cleanse the world. To do this, I feel I must put myself at your mercy." I took off my mask. My friends and family mirrored me, by their own choice.

"My name is Taylor Hebert"

"Danny Hebert"

"Murphy Slaw, and don't you dare laugh."

"Lisa, no last name."

I stowed my mask in my pocket, and continued. "I am trusting you with my secret, because I need you to trust me with mine." I took a deep breath. "I am a cape. I can control everyone around me within nearly four hundred feet, and the more people I touch with my mind, the broader my control range becomes." I let the murmurs die down. "No, I am not controlling you. I cannot read your mind. I cannot hear your thoughts. I can only control your body, and I will only do so with your permission, barring an emergency. Your decision is your own, and you will be one of us regardless of your choice. But if you wish to volunteer." I swallowed. "Then I swear that I will always let you go when you need, that I will protect and guide you to the best of my abilities, and that together, we will make waves deeper and broader than any of us could alone."

There was silence. Jyouji stepped forward. "If Danny trusts you, so do I. I'm in."

Eli David gave me a long look, and then nodded sharply. "I'm in." Janey nodded quickly in agreement. I noticed she was sitting very close to Eli.

William chewed on his cigar, before grinning. "What's life without a few bloody risks, eh? Consider me your humble servant." He made a deep, elaborate bow with far too many hand flourishes. I couldn't help but giggle a little bit, tears flowing down my cheeks.

I turned to Brian. He sighed, but nodded. I smiled. Brian smiled back, and then chuckled, looking straight at my dad. "Sir, I pity the boy your daughter tries to bring home someday."

Dad grinned a feral grin and grew six inches taller. "I won't."

AN: Enjoy, beautiful readers! Let me know what you think!


	10. Supervisor 2-2

Supervisor 2.2

I stood with my new teammates, lined up in our ACADES, looking at the world through cameras projected onto plexiglass. In front of us, Grunt paced in the prototype model, bulkier and bleach-white, with 'TEST' spray-painted on the pauldrons in big block letters. I glanced to the left and right, sensors pressed against my skin reading my muscle movements and shifting the viewpoint smoothly to either side, where I saw UNION-2 and UNION-4. "Alright, I have designed the Amphibious Construction And Demolition Exoskeletal System to be as simple and user-friendly as possible. What this means, is that if you are not stupid or careless, the ACADES will take care of you. This also means that you can get working quicker, and not have to spend a year learning how to use it. Instructions are therefore: Move, and the Suit follows you. Lift, and the Suit lifts. Jump, and the Suit jumps. To use the radio, simply state the unit name you want to speak to, and then your message. For instance," His voice crackled in over the radio, "Group, you need to pay attention. For broadcast or loudspeaker, state broadcast or intercom and you will select that mode. The comm system is not particularly intelligent, but it is robust and functional."

Grunt held up one armor clad hand, the broad rectangular emitter of a plasma cutter attachment protruding above his wrist. "This is your plasma cutter! This is not a toy! This tool generates a magnetic containment field around a self-perpetuating plasma jet that is almost as hot as the sun." He clenched his fist, and a two inch wide lance of white fire shot out to extend six inches beyond the knuckle of his index finger. "Observe what this does to steel." He walked up to a steel I beam, and sliced through it in one swift movement. The blade did not slow at all. "And what it does to the special layered alloys I use in my armors." He stepped over to a slab of metal over an inch thick, raised his arm, and dropped the blade through it, noticeably slower, but still very, very quickly.

Grunt turned back to us. "There are four settings that you can cycle through by tapping your thumb against your index finger, but you will almost certainly never need more than the second setting." he demonstrated, and the blade doubled in length and width to over a foot beyond his mechanical knuckles. Two more clicks, and the white hot blade was eight inches wide and over four feet long. "If I ever see you using this setting, you will never wear an ACADES again. If you feel like it is necessary, for whatever reason, to use this setting, you will ask, and I will tell you how to complete your taskwithout using a four-foot long plasma lance." He relaxed his hand, and the blade disappeared. "Do you understand?" Normally, Grunt was fairly laid back, but it was times like this that he demonstrated that he was a Marine Sargent before he triggered.

"Broadcast." I stated firmly. "Yes, I understand." A chorus of similar echoes came from my teammates.

I could almost see Grunt nodding. "Good."

We covered all the various attachments, from hydraulic shears to rotary cutting blades to jackhammers over the course of the rest of the day, ending late in the evening, exhausted, but cheerful. We all, Dad, Grunt, and Lisa included, trooped over to William Windsor's house, which was fairly large and well maintained. William had been a dockworker in a family of dockworkers, and had immigrated to America in the early eighties, settling down in Brockton Bay while it was still booming. He had had a wife and daughter, but had lost them to an Endbringer while they were on vacation several years ago.

When he opened up a fully stocked wet bar and all the adults started playing poker, Lisa, Brian, and I hung out in a game room chatting about cape stuff. Brian and Lisa had known each other for a few months before she defected from the Undersiders, but they were both outgoing and friendly enough that I felt included. Brian revealed a little about his home life, not much, but clarified that he was trying to gain custody of his sister, who was about my age. He had turned eighteen several months ago, and part of his employment with Lisa's 'Boss' was that he received part of his proceeds from his activities as Grue as a regular paycheck from a front company. "I never really wanted to do the whole 'Life of crime' thing. It was more of an escape, a means to an end. The Wards barely make minimum wage, and I would have been shoved into foster care at best, my dad doesn't know how to give a crap about my situation beyond boxing, and my mom would be more likely to sell my secret identity for drugs to the first person who asked." He sighed. "So I started enforcing when I was sixteen, after I triggered. Got offered the opportunity through Lisa a few months ago, and we started the Undersiders." He mock-glared at Lisa, then shook his head. "When she quit, we didn't have any way to contact the boss, not even through my 'job,' which was owned by so many intermediaries that they had no clue who I was even talking about. I got fired, and we just fell apart."

It turns out that Regent, the Ren-fair reject that I remembered from the night with Lung, had drifted off south, looking for greener pastures. Bitch was still in town, but focusing on taking care of her dogs, roaming from place to place, and generally doing the lone wolf thing.

We talked late into the night, and wound up helping the adults stagger to guest rooms and couches, before crashing where-ever we could. I did find out that, while I could help navigate drunks by taking control of their bodies, the effects of the alcohol still remained in their systems and they were very difficult to coordinate. Fortunately, the effects weren't passed to me.

After another two days of training, we finally started work dismantling the derelict, rusted ships in the Graveyard. I was practicing control by gently guiding the movements and coordination of myself and my five teammates, assisted by the extra fifty feet of range that Grue gave me. It was loud, difficult, exhausting work, and even with the extreme durability of our suits, we still had to be careful as we dismantled the massive hulls. No one wanted to be buried alive, trapped and waiting for someone to come rescue us. I was gradually getting better at multitasking, and by noon, we were swarming over the rusty walls like giant yellow ants, cutting off huge sheets of steel and feeding them into Grunt's Steel Deoxidizer. The device extruded the long bars of reclaimed metal into a waiting flatbed truck.

By the time we finished at eight, we had dismantled several of the large ships, and put a considerable and visible dent in the scrap heap. We had also fended off numerous inquisitive thugs and druggies who swaggered up, looked at six giant robots cutting up the steel hulls, and generally decided that discretion was the better part of valor. When a cluster of eight Merchants wandered up as we were leaving, we weren't so lucky.

The eight Merchants were a motley crew, seven men of varying race, and a woman, the apparent leader, who could have been mistaken for a bodybuilder, if bodybuilders typically had purple mohawks and had enough facial piercings to keep a hardware store in stock. She wore a surplus military jacket over a tank top, both stained and spray-painted with the merchant's symbol, an M with two vertical lines crossing it like a dollar sign. Tight ratty pants and ragged combat boots completed her grungy ensemble. UNION-5 and UNION-6, William and Brian respectively, were loading the Steel Deoxidizer in the back of an armored car, and she stomped right up to them, and put a hand on her hip, moving her jacket so we could see a massive pistol tucked in her waistband.

"Get out of the cans and get down on the ground, ass-wipes." I was remotely guiding Brian and William, and with a thought, the rest of us came out from where we were surveying some of the other wrecks. We surrounded the druggies, and several of them started looking nervous. Eli, UNION-1, spoke up.

"Are you serious?" His deadpan was mechanical and harsh through the speakers. "You want us to surrender the suits. That we are currently wearing."

Mohawk didn't see the point. She pulled the gun, and leveled it at Eli's helmet. "You bet your yellow ass I'm serious, dogfucker! Now get out of the suits or you get dead, then we peel you out of the suits!"

I felt Eli's eyebrow rise. "I would recommend against that. Someone might be hurt."

Brian recognized the gun. "That's a Desert Eagle. I've had a few waved at me before, but mostly by the E88." he announced over the group comm. "Big bullet, a lot of power, but not too practical. Far too much gun for most reasonable people."

"Nothing to worry about." I replied. "Stay cool."

Mohawk's face twisted up in rage, as we seemed to ignore her. "Yeah, you're getting fucking murdered!" She fired three shots straight into UNION-1's helmet. Fortunately for her, they ricocheted up off of the curved surface of the helmet. The paint wasn't even scratched. With a snarl, Mohawk emptied the magazine in his general direction. One bullet screamed straight back at her, grazing her cheek and ripping earrings off her left ear. She screamed in rage and pain, and threw the gun at Eli, who caught it with one hand.

"I said someone would get hurt." He stated mildly, and crushed the gun to mangled scrap. "You can still end this peacefully."

The remaining Merchants drew their weapons, even though at least four of them looked like they wanted to bolt, but we surrounded them. Mohawk screamed incomprehensibly, drew a wicked looking knife from somewhere, and charged UNION-1. Eli caught her wrist daintily with his thumb and forefinger, and removed the knife from her slackening grip. With a gentle tap to the side of her head, Mohawk was knocked out. "Anyone else?" He asked.

A black merchant with rotten teeth swung a pistol to point at me. I took one step forward and cut the revolver in half with the high-powered hydraulic shears on my left forearm. His eyes shot wide open in terror, and he dove away from me wildly. A Latino man charged Janey with a machete, but it bounced off UNION-2's armored thigh and sprang away, numbing his fingers. Janey gently backhanded him, and he went sprawling. The remaining thugs looked at each other and simultaneously surrendered, throwing down a motley assortment of weapons.

Jyouji, UNION-4, piped up over the internal comm. "So... What now?"

I grimaced. "I'm calling the PRT."

"Why the PRT?" Brian asked. "Wouldn't the cops work; none of these guys are capes, right?"

"Nope, all just junkies. I'm calling the PRT because we're all wearing power armor. A normal cop would probably freak out."

"Oh." Brian shrugged, his suit moving with him. "Fair enough."

With a couple of voice commands, I dialed the number for the PRT. We had been expecting this, but not so soon. Not on the first day.

"PRT Rapid Response, what is your emergency?" a bored male voice picked up on the first ring.

I activated the voice changer in my armor. "This is UNION-3, member of The Union's Controlled Demolition team, currently on assignment in the Ship Graveyard. We encountered and neutralized eight members of the Merchants who attacked us without provocation. Requesting pickup." My voice came out flat and mechanical.

"W-Who did you say you were?" The responder asked, startled. I could hear keys clicking rapidly in the background. Huh? We had submitted paperwork, requested permits, and everything. All completely above board.

"UNION-3, with the Controlled Demolition Team." I replied, slowly and carefully. Janey giggled to herself. Eli was contacting Dad and Lisa, letting them know what was going on.

"Understood, UNION-3. Are you a parahuman?"

"No." I lied.

"Then why did you call the PRT hotline if none of the parties involved are capes?" He asked, exasperated.

"Because my employer provides protective exoskeletal systems that may cause... unfortunate misunderstandings with the Brockton Bay Police Department. Therefore, I would like to have someone who is more used to the unusual come to pick up thecriminals who attacked us."

"There are more than just you?" the dispatcher asked.

"Six." I was frustrated and confused. Either this moron missed the memo, or the PRT didn't have their eye on the ball and wasn't communicating with City Hall.

He sighed. "Let me guess. UNION-1 through 6. I am obligated to ask if you are willing to disclose your identity for our records."

"No." I deadpan.

A brief, sarcastic chuckle. "Figures. I'll have a member of the Protectorate out in ten minutes." With a click, the call ended.

"Ten minutes." I stated over the comms. I was frustrated that we would be interacting with the Protectorate so soon, but I had foolishly thought that even morons up to their eyeballs in drugs would think twice about attacking six eight foot tall suits of power armor.

Eli turned to me. "Havok can be here in five." He commed. I frowned, and then shook my head before realizing the helmet wouldn't mimic the gesture.

"No," I commed back. "We're already showing our hand more than we want to, we don't want to show that we have capes available other than Grunt. They know he's in town anyway."

Eli complied, although I could tell he disagreed. I busied myself with coordinating my teammates as they loaded the truck and wrapped everything up, and busily expanded my senses. Among other things I had worked on today, I had practiced gently influencing the vagrant population to gently spread out and expand my influence. I was currently sensing at about five hundred feet, with small bubbles of further growth as I touched on small, distant clusters of homeless people. None of the poor souls had even noticed, but I kept a very light touch on their senses, hoping to avoid as much overload as possible.

Seven minutes after the end of the call, the drunken homeless woman pushing a shopping cart at the furthest extent of my influence heard a motorcycle coming. "We have incoming." I stated over the comm, and pulled my team back around our prisoners, just as a familiar mind entered my range, expanding it by nearly 200 feet. "It's Armsmaster. He'll want to talk to me, because I called in." I pause, reviewing Armsmaster's HUD. "He has a live feed going to Dragon and the PRT, audio and video. He also has a lie detector, and I suspect that he can intercept radio broadcasts. No comm chatter. If I need something, I'll let you know." As I was watching through Armsmaster's eyes, I felt another familiar presence coming nearby. I smiled. "We also have Grunt incoming." Grunt only extended my range by about 150 feet, but I grinned as he approached at a jogging pace in his personal suit. This was going to be fun.

Armsmaster pulled up to us in a spray of sand and loose gravel, vaulting off of his bike before it even stopped, his halberd appearing in his hand in a flash of blue light. I could feel him grinding his teeth, even as he stalked up to us. His eyes flicked over the six suits in front of him, asynchronous blinks and finger twitches tagging each of us with identifying tags. A screen popped up in the corner of his HUD, comparing our suits to known tinker work. That might take a while, considering we were wearing brand new designs. As he got within fifty feet of us, he barked out a question like we were rookies in boot camp. "UNION-3 of the 'Controlled Demolition Team?'" Ever heard of tact?

"Yes, Armsmaster. We have some people for you." Armsmaster surveyed the cowed Merchants huddling inside the circle of six giant suits of power armor.

He pursed his lips. "You stated you worked for The Union."

"Yes." Where was he going with this?

"And that you are not a parahuman."

"I did state that, yes. Your point?"

"Six non-capes in unknown tinkertech, under the command of a mysterious organization, in open conflict with known gang members in previously unclaimed territory." He frowned a little deeper, and his fingers tightened on his halberd. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't bring you in for questioning along with the Merchants."

I blinked in stunned disbelief. Was he really accusing us of being a gang? I must confess I got pissed at the implicit accusation. In the distance, two homeless men got in a fistfight before I stopped redirecting my aggression. I raised a loose fist, and Armsmaster tensed. I let him stew for a moment, and then raised a finger "First, we have no committed no crime, and acted in self-defense against attack from known criminals who were threatening us with deadly weapons. Second," Another finger, "We have been here all morning engaged in legitimate salvage for a registered, albeit little-known, organization: The Union. You will find that the appropriate documentation was filed last week at City Hall." Armsmaster was within moments of cracking a tooth. I could feel his temples pulsing. I was loving this, riling up bullies was a blast, at least when they couldn't hurt you. "And finally, my boss is coming right up behind you, and, unless I am mistaken, he has copies of the permits with him."

Sure enough, Grunt rounded the corner in style, wearing his own personal suit, a lighter model that would, in his words, "only go into a burning building or shrug off anti-material rounds." Unlike ours, His was cut closer to his frame and only about six and a half feet tall, but still very bulky. It was painted bright blue, with crimson and gold flames curled up from his feet and hands. Attached to his feet was a pair of motorized all-terrain wheels, which he was using to skate rapidly along. As he pulled up beside Armsmaster in a hail of gravel that coincidentally also hit the blunt hero's bike, the mirrored dome that covered his face retracted up into the domed helmet bolted over his head, level with the top of his oversized pauldrons. He thrust out a hand. "Armsmaster. Should have known I'd run into you out here."

"Grunt. I should have guessed this was your work." The hero frowned, and gingerly shook Grunt's armored gauntlet. "We didn't receive notification you were in town."

Grunt raised an eyebrow. "Really, could have sworn I sent a standard notification email to the PRT with all the appropriate forms. Unless..." he suddenly roared in laughter, slapping his armored gut with a loud clang. "You never took me out of the spam filter after I emailed everyone the picture of the award I got after Three Mile!" He shook his head.

Armsmaster scowled. "That did qualify as spam." he growled. I toggled off my loudspeakers so I could laugh. Grunt enjoyed a good practical joke.

Grunt waved him off. "You were just jealous that you didn't have a medal." He sobered significantly. "What can I do for you, Armsmaster?"

"You can tell me why you're here in m – this city. We had not received word that you were here." Armsmaster stated flatly.

Grunt sighed. "Like I said, I sent the standard email, the action required by your regulations. If it wasn't received, then that is... unfortunate, but no fault of mine." He waved one arm at us and the Boat Graveyard. "As to what we are doing here, we are dismantling and salvaging wreckage to improve the shipping situation, using local workers to boost the local economy, and my technology to protect the workers from a... hostile environment."

Armsmaster frowned. "And yet you have captured a group of Merchant gang members. That's outside the purview of a salvage business."

Grunt threw his hands up. "They attacked my men! What do you expect them to do, let the fucked up drug hounds just run off or walk all over them?"

Armsmaster bristled. "I expect them to avoid upsetting a situation that's already dangerous. This city is close to erupting with inter-gang warfare, and you might have just struck the spark that makes everything explode. Six suits of power armor demolishing ships and attacking gang members could incite an open three-way war, with you as the prize."

Grunt raised a hand, paused for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. "You know, I really looked up to you, after I got into this business. Even then, you were the best of the best, second only to Dragon. When I came to that convention and shook your hand, when I showed you my work, I was hoping for some validation. You remember what you told me? You took one look at the armor I was wearing, and you said one word. 'Crude.'" Grunt slammed one fist into an open palm. "A brand new tinker, proud of my work. Fresh out of the Marines after a training accident crippled me." He chuckled dryly. "And then you hounded me for three years trying to get me to join the PRT or Protectorate after you saw the good my tech can do. Did you ever ask yourself why I refused?"

"Multiple times. It seemed selfish." Armsmaster stated.

For a moment, I could have sworn that Grunt was going to punch him. "Selfish!" He took a few deep breaths. "Now listen to me, you bastard. I didn't join the Protectorate because I could do more good in the private sector, working to design tech that saves lives, protects lives. I don't have to go play dress-up, or punch thugs and villains to do that. Hell, I guaran-damn-tee you that I have, through my personal actions or my technology, saved more lives than you and yours."

Armsmaster raised his halberd threateningly. "Don't bring my technology into this. You can't even grasp how much goes into building and maintaining my equipment, so I can fight the Endbringers that want to end all humanity."

Grunt blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's what you focus on? I'm talking about lives, and you focus on the slight to your Swiss Army Shtick? You build fancy things that take more upkeep than a gold-digging whore to maintain, and you resent me, because I save lives with my crude technology that can take a beating and just need a bit of grease afterward. The Endbringers? I fight 'em too, and afterward, I go in and clean up. I've been in the aftermath of the last twelve Endbringer attacks, doing my part. You know what, forget it. I'm not gonna argue with you anymore" He waved Armsmaster off. "Just go. Take these." He pulled a packet of papers out of a compartment on his armor and thrust them into Armsmaster's free hand. "Copies of our registration and work permit."

Armsmaster opened and closed his mouth a few times, gaping like a gold fish, before he turned and stalked off. He turned to shoot back over his shoulder. "I'll be watching you, Grunt. If you or The Union put one toe out of line..." He reached his bike, and threw a leg over.

Grunt made a rude gesture. "Fuck off, Halbeard!" Armsmaster roared away, utterly ignoring any traffic laws. I heard the disgruntled hero swear quietly under his breath. Grunt sighed, and shook his head. "I swear that man gets under my skin like nobody else."

We turned and walked towards the waiting van, Jyouji out of his armor and sitting in the driver's seat in his skin-suit. Smirking ironically, Grunt glanced at me. "Think he ever got the sink built into that tin can of his?" He asked.

I reviewed what I could recall of the list Armsmaster scrolled through. Hand sanitizer in one glove, and an atmospheric water vapor still in a back compartment. "Not quite, but close. Porcelain is giving him a hard time."

Grunt chuckled, and sighed again. "Bloody Tinkers." I have no clue how he said it with a straight face.

AN: anyone viewing from SV will see this the rewrite of this chapter.


	11. Interlude 2-2a

Supervisor 2.2a – Interlude: Armsmaster

Armsmaster strode towards Director Piggot's office, the butt of his halberd hitting the floor with every stride, his face still creased with irritation at his recent interaction with an irritatingly inefficient tinker. Grunt had been a thorn in Armsmaster's side for years. One slip of the tongue at a convention, and that man held a grudge and refused to see reason. What did he have to do to get Grunt affiliated with the Protectorate? Get down and beg? Not likely. He opened the office door crisply, and marched in, standing firmly in front of the Director's desk.

Director Piggot stared at him silently, her face held in an expressionless mask, fingers interlaced and resting on the desk in front of her. Miss Militia stood quietly in the corner, eyebrows creased in irritation. For a long moment, Piggot stared at Armsmaster. Finally, after Colin got bored and started reviewing plans for his next modification of his halberd, she spoke. "Armsmaster." she stated stonily. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

Armsmaster blinked. "I was investigating a previously unknown parahuman organization and assessing the threat they presented to Brockton Bay. Any organization with technology that advanced encroaching on gang territory could be a destabilizing influence."

"Wrong." Piggot slammed a hand flat on the table. "You were needlessly antagonizing a registered parahuman organization, on that, for once, is actually not focused on fighting _other_ parahuman organizations. They filed all the necessary paperwork with City Hall, and would have filed it with us, except they were intercepted _by a filter you created_." She shook her head. "A filter you created because you were _overreacting_ to some harmless boasting."

Armsmaster raised a finger, but the director cut him off. "No, a picture of a rival tinker and a link to a video showing that he can juggle eggs in power armor is not spam." Miss Militia snorted. "Now explain what could have _possibly_ possessed you to make such an egregious error."

Colin paused for a moment, compiling and editing a mental report. "I was unaware of the roster or intentions of the Parahuman group known as The Union. Prior to tonight, the only reason we were aware of their existence was via their purchase of the warehouse that we discussed. I requested that the PRT alert me if any calls were received regarding The Union. I was expecting a vigilante cape at best, so I was very surprised when we heard from someone claiming to be part of a power armored squad." Armsmaster sighed. "I went out, expecting the worst, and when I saw the six identical suits of armor surrounding non-capes on the ground, I thought I had found it."

"Then you encountered Grunt, and he confirmed that he was a member of The Union, and you managed to provoke him into being confrontational." Director Piggot concluded, rubbing her temples. She tapped a few panels on her glass-topped desk, and a set of images and documents appeared on the built in screen. "Grunt. Tinker 5, Brute 1 for slightly enhanced durability. Appeared about seven years ago, after a relatively well-documented trigger event related to the failed military testing of power armor designed by Carapace. Specializes in commercially applicable power armor that are beyond ridiculously durable. The only reason he doesn't have a higher rating is that he insists that he will only design and build suits for non-combat purposes, with the notable exception of Endbringer attacks. In PRT and Protectorate interviews in the past, he has repeatedly stated that he 'had enough in the Marines,' presumably referring to combat and violence." Piggot stared hard at Armsmaster. "Anything we are missing?"

The hero shifted uncomfortably. "His alloying and armor-plating techniques are...adequate."

Piggot snorted. "High praise. Obviously you're being obtuse. Anything to add on why a tinker who would be such a valuable asset, even in a support role, steadfastly refuses to work with you?"

"No."

The Director studied Armsmaster for a long moment. "Fine." she barked. "I'm doubling your patrols, and you're taking a more active role in mentoring the Wards, on and off patrol. You're so concerned about the city, take more time out in it." Armsmaster grunted in weary agreement. That would significantly cut down the time he had available to make repairs and adjustments to his systems. He saw the value in it though, especially after Grunt's earlier tirade.

"Effective immediately, on any patrol leading near the Ship Graveyard, you will have Miss Militia accompanying you, for diplomatic purposes." Armsmaster nodded. Logical, that would actually decrease his overall stress.

Piggot smirked, and Colin felt a chill of unease. "Finally, you have teleconferenced Public Relations classes with Glenn Chambers twice a week for the foreseeable future." Armsmaster winced.

"If you want to be a leader, the Hero of this generation, then you have to learn not to stick your armored boot in your mouth every time you open it." Piggot glared at the tinker. "Maybe this way you'll learn to play nice with others."

A screen built into the wall hummed to life, showing Dragon's concerned face. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but this is something that you need to see." The screen flickered, and resolved into a TV news broadcast showing an attractive blonde in a blue dress, standing on the front steps of the Brockton Bay Courthouse.

"This is Cindy Rinehart, Channel 5 news, with a breaking news report from the Brockton Bay Courthouse. The jury has reached a verdict in the widely publicized trial against Victoria Dallon, also known as 'Glory Girl', for the death of the villain known only as 'Ballistic' during his assault on [that bank] nearly three weeks ago. The trial has been widely publicized, especially due to the public nature of the incident, and the amateur footage captured by multiple bystanders. The following sample may have material disturbing to some audiences."

The screen cut to a shaky video, echoing with panting, terrified breath, showing a costumed man touching a large desk and sending it rocketing into a slender girl with brown hair, standing with her arms spread in front of a group of people trembling on the floor. The desk slammed into her lower legs and crushed her against a stone column before it exploded into splinters. The girl slid limply down the pillar, leaving a trail of blood. A chorus of screams and cries echoed through the bank, but they were cut through by a bellow of rage and fear and a spray of falling glass as the distinctive figure of Glory Girl slammed through the skylight, landing on one knee and leaving an impact crater. A blur of movement later, and she stood upright with her forearm punched all the way through the villain's chest, her white costume stained crimson with blood. The video ended.

Cindy smiled. "Only moments ago, the jury ruled that Ms. Dallon was guilty of manslaughter with a parahuman ability, and sentenced her to fifteen years in prison, subject to parole. The foreman stated, quote: 'It is a tragedy, what happened to Amy Dallon, but that is no excuse for an act of revenge. Parahumans must be held to the same standards that we are, regardless of the circumstances.'" Cindy's smile softened. "Given Ms. Dallon's cooperation with authorities, as well as her ability to remove herself from any prison short of the Birdcage, she will be transferred to a minimum security prison for the duration of her sentence."

The image changed again, to Victoria Dallon wearing a prison orange jumpsuit and mundane handcuffs. Tears streaked down her cheeks. "I-I just want to say that I'm sorry. I let everyone down. I'll serve my term, and maybe I'll be a better person when I get out." The clip ended, and Cindy bobbed her head cheerfully.

"This just goes to show that justice will be served in the end, whether you're a hero or villain. This is Cindy Rinehart, Channel 5 news." The news screen vanished.

Piggot steepled her fingers. "That was unexpected. What went wrong, Dragon?"

Dragon seemed to sigh. "As best I can tell, everything was going well, until the prosecution discovered Glory Girl's secondary power."

Miss Militia spoke up. "Secondary power? Beyond the flight, strength, and forcefield durability?"

A nod. "Yes. Glory Girl generates an aura around her that encourages people that she is friendly towards to like her, and invokes a fear or panic response in those she doesn't like. It's subtle, but definitely present, and she can't really control it. Somehow, the prosecution heard about it, and enacted Master/Stranger prosecution protocols. Victoria could only defend herself via video conference, and anyone she had a personal relationship with was barred from testimony due to involuntary bias. The judge barred Carol from representing her, and a court defendant was appointed who had never even met Victoria, and only interacted with her by webcam."

Director Piggot closed her eyes wearily and rubbed her temples. "So she was railroaded."

Dragon gave the impression of shifting uncomfortably. "Actually, after doing that, the trial was handled almost completely fairly. The prosecution was even sympathetic, but firm, and argued against the Birdcage based on her record and cooperation. My personal opinion is that the law was upheld, although personally I would have preferred a shorter sentence. Fifteen years is a long time for a teenage girl who can break out at literally any time, even if she is willingly in custody."

Director Piggot nodded slowly. "Understandable. But, with the possibility of parole for good behavior, it may be bearable. And she will be subject to the usual Endbringer prison protocols, and the rewards that apply there as well." A final sharp nod. "Fine. Not the best solution, but better than many." She glanced at Armsmaster and Miss Militia. "Your joint patrol starts in two hours. I have rerouted you near the Ship Graveyard. Analyze the area and work done as much as possible, see what we're dealing with. You are not to engage any members of The Union in any way. If they attempt to open dialogue, Miss Militia will do the talking. Is that understood?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Our official stance on The Union?"

Piggot sighed. "We're going to treat them like any other Rogue or Vigilante organization, at least until they show signs of criminal activity. If what they're doing is what they say it is, then The Union will be a good thing for Brockton Bay." A final nod from Armsmaster, and he marched out, closely followed by Miss Militia. Piggot buried her face in her hands.

Why couldn't someone else be the head of the Protectorate here? Anyone else would be better. But they were stuck with a bumbling, rude, over-focused tinker as the local head. Assault, as a former villain was out. Battery refused flatly when offered, and was compromised anyway, since she was married to Assault. Velocity was far too flighty, and wouldn't have been able to handle the responsibility. Dauntless was too young, only just out of the Wards. Finally, Miss Militia, her personal choice, was simply not combat effective enough to be a presentable head of the superhero organization. On nearly all other counts, she was a better choice, but the ability to generate weapons just wouldn't cut it against many of the villains and threats in the city.

Director Piggot sighed, and got back to work. At least Armsmaster had designed software that streamlined a lot of the paperwork. At least he was good at that. And, admittedly, he was a highly skilled and effective tinker, and, with people who knew him well, he was at least tolerable.

Down the hall, Miss Militia glanced at Armsmaster. "There's something more about Grunt that sets you off." She stated. It wasn't a question.

Armsmaster grunted. "His work is inefficient. Too much wasted space and resources, too many over-redundancies. Every time I look at it, I can see how it can be improved without losing effectiveness for what he needs it to do." He shook his head. "He should be able to do better. At least I can blame Squeeler's terrible work on the drugs."

Miss Militia frowned. "When I looked at his file, I saw some of the things his suits have survived. He seems to over-engineer on purpose. It's probably his specialization."

Armsmaster glanced at her. "You think I don't know that? I know he overdoes everything, It just grates on my nerves when I look at it. It's worse for Tinker gear, but it's a constant thing. Everything I see, I know I can improve, make it better, more efficient, more compact. It's a constant vision of inadequate, substandard, poor design. And it's everywhere." They reached the corridor leading to Armsmaster's lab. "Patrol in two hours. Need to maintain my halberd and armor." He marched off down the hallway without another word.

Miss Militia stood watching for a moment, before heading to her room, deep in thought. She had never really realized how much strain Armsmaster's powers placed on him, but it did account for some of his behavior. She shook her head, smiling softly, as the knife in it's sheath flashed and transformed into a halberd resting in a harness across her back. She would support him, of course. That's what she did best.

Sitting in the best bed, in the best room, in the best hospital in Brockton Bay, Amy Dallon buried her head in her hands and sobbed as the report on her sister's incarceration ended. She was alone. Alone. Trapped in a hospital bed, her entire lower body in casts so that the accelerated healing granted by Transfusion's blood and Medicae's regeneration serums wouldn't leave her unable to walk. Her family consoling her sister, and ignoring Amy. The worst part was, some small part of Amy was glad she was alone, glad no one could see her tears. Glad that she was away from Victoria and the terrible, dirty things she felt toward her, and able to heal from the influence of her aura. The deepest and darkest part of her was glad that Victoria was gone, because that meant Carol could finally notice her. Another part refused to hope. And weaving through it all was the pervasive, almost sickeningly sweet relief that she didn't have to heal anyone, trapped here in this room, all by herself.

A dark flash of brightness, moving shapes in space.

Amy Dallon, Panacea, sat up in her bed, tears drying on her cheeks, marveling as she felt, in wondrous, molecular detail, every inch of her own body, _knowing_ it like she _knew_ anyone else she touched. She held her hand up to her face, and watched her own skin ripple and change, as she manipulated the color of her own skin. A grin grew on her face, and her mind dove down her legs, tracing the minute shadows left by medical nanite colonies and feeling her bones knit together at an accelerated rate at her command, before she stopped herself, and switched off her pain receptors in her legs before purging the painkillers from her body, storing them for later in a tiny pouch next to her saliva glands.

She leaned back in her bed, arms folded behind her head. A vacation is a vacation, after all. Why bother healing herself, when all she'd have to go to was more work.

A thought, and her face rippled and changed. Perhaps it was time to retire? Amy sighed, and her face reverted to normal. Perhaps just not yet.

AN: YES. YES I DID.

Transfusion is cribbed off of Alchemical Solutions, I think, and heals the wounds of others by giving them his blood. Medicae is a minor OC that is like a white hat Bonesaw, IE medical tinker, but with more of a focus on pharmaceuticals and healing tech than plagues and biomechanical constructs.


	12. Supervisor 2-3

Supervisor 2.3

We were resting in the lounge at our headquarters when we heard the news. Of course, the bank robbery had been a big deal, and everyone was very upset about Panacea's injuries, but frankly, the fact that Glory Girl was on trial had slipped my mind. When the newscast came on, Lisa turned up the volume, and watched intently, frowning slightly. Dad and I were only paying partial attention; I was reading a book and idly eating chips, trying to unwind from the stress of dealing with the Merchants and Armsmaster, and Dad was making another sandwich. When the newscast started playing the video of Panacea getting hurt, I idly started watching through Lisa's eyes, easily dividing my attention.

When the reporter stated they had declared Glory Girl guilty, I put my book down, and with a twist of thought, turned Dad's head toward the TV. When she declared the jail time, and the head juror made his statement, I was shaking in rage. Glory Girl was a hero! She saved those people from Ballistic! I felt my power spreading my anger to those around me, and Dad started to grow larger. I clamped down on my emotions, did some breathing exercises, and forced myself to calm down. By the end of the news segment, I had managed to calm myself. I turned to Lisa. "What the hell was that? Are they actually punishing her for saving the lives Ballistic might have taken?"

Lisa pursed her lips, deep in thought for a long while. "Effectively, but that's not their intention." she finally stated. "My impression is that this is an attempt to bring more parahumans under direct control of the PRT and Protectorate." I blinked in surprise. "The odd thing is," Lisa continued, "Is that I don't think the local PRT or Protectorate had much, if anything to do with it." I raised an eyebrow. Lisa grabbed a laptop, and started rapidly typing. After a moment, she nodded sharply. "Yes. This came completely out of the blue for the local PRT. Director Piggot just requested a trial transcript."

"I wish you wouldn't do that." I stated mildly.

Lisa chuckled before shrugging. "I'm not really hacking them, just... accessing them remotely through an unsecured account. Anyway, the whole thing seems to be more region, or even state wide, but I'd need more information to confirm that." She shook her head. "It's a shame. Glory Girl may have been an attention-seeking bitch, but she was definitely a deterrent to some crimes. And this sets a really bad example." She glanced at me. "It doesn't get out much, but in the circles I used to run in, there were rumors about why Glory Girl almost always patrolled with Panacea. She could get... rough... with people she caught, had a bit of a temper."

"So, excessive use of force aside, how on earth did she get convicted?" I asked "Wouldn't she have been released because she was defending the public, or something like that?"

Lisa shook her head. "No. Maybe if her mother was defending her, but they forcibly removed her from the case for some reason..." She paused, her lips moving. "They discovered something about Glory Girl... some kind of Master or Stranger ability that compromised people that she was around."

I nodded. "So they freaked out about another Master. Like when they sent Dancing Queen to the Birdcage."

Lisa grimaced. Dancing Queen was, frankly, kind of a joke. His claim to fame was being a ludicrously flamboyant transvestite villain who had the power to force people to mimic him when he was dancing to music. After the third time they captured him holding a forced flash-mob hostage in a mall, he was summarily drummed off to the Birdcage, where, it was rumored, he lasted less than six hours. He was also a major part of why I was cautious about revealing my powers. If they had been willing to send a harmless, campy villain to the Birdcage because he could control people, what would they do to me?

"Yes, I think that was part of it." Lisa stated. "I won't know for sure until I review the trial transcript, though. The other part was how quickly Glory Girl escalated to violence. She didn't demand a surrender, she didn't issue a warning, she just flat out killed Ballistic. On top of that, New Wave is a vigilante group that is not permitted to use lethal force outside of the most extreme circumstances, such as previously acknowledged S-class threats. With that in mind, and Master/Stranger protocols influencing the perceptions of the jury, I'm not surprised that she was convicted."

I frowned. This had bad implications. Vigilantes weren't allowed to kill in self defense? "So... Glory Girl is getting sent to prison for fifteen years... That seems like a long time, especially since she's our age."

Lisa shrugged. "Given that they didn't rule out parole, it's more likely to be five years. That's the minimum required sentence for any Cape Crime."

I blinked. "Five years for _any_ crime committed by a parahuman?"

"Five years minimum for any crime committed using a parahuman ability or in costume." Lisa corrected. "It's typically put on the beginning of the sentence, too. Even If Glory Girl gets parole for the manslaughter, she still has to serve for the 'use of a parahuman ability in the commission of a crime.'"

I sat silently for a while, letting Lisa work on the laptop, researching the case. I watched her flit from page to page, making annotations in a separate document. Finally, I asked the question. "What does this mean for The Union?"

Lisa huffed out a sigh. "Right now? Not much. We are not a vigilante group, we're a salvage business. For the short term, The Protectorate may see more members as vigilantes start joining to get protection from prosecution, even if it means giving up some freedom. With Glory Girl incarcerated and Panacea still injured, I am fairly confident that New Wave will either completely dissolve or temporarily retire. Rouges like us will be pretty much unaffected. The worst part is that Villains, especially the nasty ones, will go further, harder, because a lot of heroes will be very leery of accidentally going too far."

I frowned. "This is going to suck, isn't it?" Lisa nodded. We were right.

The next day, Brandish and Lady Photon announced the dissolution of New Wave as a peacekeeping force. They would turn out for any local Endbringer attacks, but otherwise they were retiring from being an active superhero group. That night, Lung and the AZN Bad Boys, including one new cape, Kitsune, who could create semi-solid illusions that caused burning pain on contact, rampaged into Empire territory, carving out a huge chunk of territory. Video posted by terrified and awestruck bystanders showed Lung, thirty feet tall, covered with scales and webbed wings, and blazing with blue fire, viciously incinerating Night and Fog, trapped in an alley by a massive nine-tailed fox, courtesy of Kitsune's illusions. The Protectorate made the uneasy choice of not engaging Lung, letting his battle fury dissipate to avoid untenable casualties.

The hospitals were flooded, utterly swamped with burned and wounded gang members and civilians. A plea went out to Panacea, finally recovered enough to stand after the ordeal at Central Bank. Surprisingly, she called for a press conference in front of the hospital.

Lisa and I watched on the TV screen as a tall, pale man in pure white scrubs and doctor's coat came out of the double doors of the hospital, pushing Panacea, sitting in her white robe with a red cross. The man paused at the podium, blue eyes glinting from above a white ceramic face mask, and a pair of glistening, bone white mechanical arms came out from under his coat and held the wheelchair as he helped Panacea to her feet. The phrase "Thank you, Medicae." was barely caught by the microphones at the podium.

Panacea's face was still pale, and she wavered as she gripped the edges of the podium. "Thank you for coming out tonight." she stated weakly. "Three weeks ago, as I was standing in front of a group of hostages in a bank robbery, a supervillain crushed me with a mahogany desk traveling just under the speed of sound. The desk crushed my pelvis and legs into splinters, and it was a near miracle that the hydrostatic shock of the impact alone did not kill me outright, only sent me into a coma. It was only through the efforts of nearly a dozen doctors and thirty-six hours straight of surgery that I am speaking with you now. It is only the efforts of Transfusion, Remission, and Medicae that I am able to stand, even for short time periods." Panacea paused, and surveyed the waiting reporters. "It is only through the efforts of my sister, Glory Girl – Victoria Dallon – that _that man_ did not kill or injure anyone else."

A hush of deeper silence fell over the audience, breaths held. "I woke up for the first time since the accident yesterday." Panacea stated dryly. "I turned on the news mere minutes before the news report of my sister's _murder conviction w_as broadcast." Her voice was practically a snarl. "My sister is a _hero_. She _saved my life_. She saved the life of _every person_ in that building, by stopping Ballistic." Panacea smiled a sick sarcastic smile. "So you sent my hero to jail, for saving those lives."

She shook her head. "I'm not like my sister. I'm not strong, or brave. I'm no hero, I just work hard. There's an old comic from Earth Aleph that had a superhero live by the motto 'With great power, comes great responsibility.'" Panacea looked straight into the camera. "I have been trying to live up to the responsibility of my power, ever since I received it. I have toiled away, healing everyone I could, yet you demand more of me. I forgo on sleep, and you need more." she sighed. "I cannot go like this any more. My strength has been taken from me." A tear trickled down her cheek. "I cannot go on, I must finally take responsibility, not for my duty to others, but my duty to myself."

Panacea wavered, then stood straight up. "After I recover, I will continue to heal the innocent bystanders of parahuman conflict. I will continue to heal the victims of Endbringers. I will continue to heal heroes who fight for the rights and lives of others. I will continue to heal those who cannot be saved by any other hand but mine. And that is all."

The crowd started to murmur, but Panacea raised one hand. "I have given too much of myself to those who did not need it. I have poured out my soul, spoonful by spoonful to _ungrateful masses_, sacrificed my time, my sleep, my every waking hour. I can do it no longer, not while a corpulent, complacent mass keeps a hero behind bars." Panacea stared to turn. "You have made your bed. Now sleep in it." Medicae reached out and helped Panacea return to her wheelchair, shooting a glare at the crowd from behind his ceramic surgical mask.

As they entered the hospital, the murmuring of the crowd became a roar of exchanged questions. The scene cut to a reporter, but before she could open her mouth, Lisa turned off the TV. I glanced at her, and saw the tears pouring down her cheeks. I blinked, and Lisa wiped them away hurriedly. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she shook her head, whispered "Bad memories," and smiled weakly. The only thing I could do was wrap her in a hug.

Brockton Bay was sitting on a precipice, waiting for something to tip us over the edge. The war between the Empire and the ABB surged back and forth over the next three days, claiming innocents and gang members indiscriminately in its wake. Smoke rose from blocks at a time, and fire teams were stretched thin. The Protectorate brought in members from other cities in an effort to suppress the violence, but when a young hydrokinetic was badly burned by Lung, they backed off, trying to minimize casualties and contain the damage. Grunt brushed off one of his FARES, and spent his days split between fighting fires and rescuing as many as he could, and madly building something in the warehouse. We were all living in the Warehouse now, it was too tense to be traveling long distances to commute. The Merchants were moving in on our work-site, each group larger than the last, but what else was there to do but work? We drove them off every time, but I took to standing sentries while we worked, to dissuade the less obstinate and desperate from attacking.

Today, we were working underwater, using rotary grinders and our hydraulic shears to dismantle a smaller ship that had sank to the bottom when it hit one of the larger ones. It was slow going, but the plasma lances flash-boiled the water around us and drained their fuel far quicker than they would above land. It was peaceful working here, down in the silent water, only the humming of our work and the light from our lamps cutting through the dark water. I was linked to the other three ACADES down with me, and had Brian and Janey standing sentry close to the shore. The bright side of the constant practice with my power over the past few days was that it was getting much easier to guide my teammate's actions without completely controlling them. As people learned how to interpret the subtle guiding of muscles here and there, it became a skill that I could copy and redistribute, making it easier to harmonize those around me.

Even with these advances, a nagging feeling of emptiness was starting to grow, however, and last night I had had a dream of myself controlling the city like a living hive, and walking all who opposed me straight into the sea. I was relieved to find out that I had not followed through on my subconscious urges while I slept.

I shifted my attention to Brian, and stared out of his eyes at the approaching gang of thugs. Twelve, this time, all Merchants and probably strung out, judging from their appearance. They were armed with a motley assortment of blades and guns, although one burly goon was carrying an electric chainsaw. Brian crossed his arms, and Janey shook her head. "Same game-plan as last time, guys." I commed as the thugs swaggered up, and entered my range. Right now, I was limited to what space I had around Brian, about fifty or sixty feet altogether, since I was a fair distance out in the bay.

"Understood." Brian stated, and stared at the approaching thugs. They were bunched together, understandably cautious, but full to the brim of chemical courage.

The apparent leader of this particular group of thugs, a short Hispanic man waving a sawn-off shotgun and carrying two machetes on his belt, stopped about ten feet from Brian. "Get out of the fucking can or we cut you out!" he bellowed, brandishing his shotgun.

Brian chuckled, the speakers on his armor making it come out distorted and mechanical. "I'd like to see you try."

The Merchants charged, firing shots wildly and stabbing and slashing with their blades, but wound up doing far more damage to each other than to the hardened armor of the two suits. The lunatic with a chainsaw lunged, swinging his improvised weapon at Janey, but it rebounded and crawled across his chest, leaving him screaming and bleeding everywhere.

There was a sharp crack of sound, and something burst _through_ the helmet of Janey's armor and out the other side, leaving a long streak of burning, white hot agony across the top of her head. She clutched her head with both hands, and screamed. I recoiled, her agony echoing across my mind in a blaze of fire, before I surged back with my power, flooding her with endorphins to dampen the pain, before I led my fellow workers out of the water as fast as we could manage, seizing complete control as I went. I used Brian to lay Janey down flat on the sand and casually backhand any thug who tried to take advantage, my power slowing their reaction times and keeping the ones that were down out cold. At the same time, I was using Eli to call the PRT and call for back up, and I dialed Dad. He answered on the second ring. I was two hundred feet from shore.

"Dad, we've got trouble. Sniper took down Janey. She's still alive, but hurting bad." Another sharp _crack_, and Brian saw it, a bright flash of blue-white light from the top of an abandoned building, followed by a burning agony shooting through his shoulder, exiting the armor behind him. I yelped in repressed pain as the lance seemed to shoot through me as well. "Shit! They got Brian!"

"I'm on my way!" Dad practically growled, and hung up. I let Eli take over his call with the PRT, and surged out of the water, running flat out towards the building with the shooter on it. It had to be a tinker weapon, and that possibly meant that Squealer was making an assault.

The abandoned office building ahead of us was an older building, about six stories, and med of solid brick. As it came within my range, I seized the two Merchants on the roof and overwhelmed them completely. I looked at the gun the shooter was holding, a massive sniper rifle with a barrel nearly six feet long, covered in bare wires and equipment, obviously tinker tech, and equally obviously made by Squealer. Shit. I was right. With a thought, I forced the Merchant sniper and her spotter into deep sleep, and focused on forcing my range as far as possible. With the stress, I managed to reach five hundred feet on my own, then touching the homeless population gave me traces reaching a little bit further in some areas. There was barely anyone around.

With no obvious threats remaining, I used my three mobile comrades to patrol while we waited for Dad. When he entered my range, expanding it by about 75 feet, I guided him to us, and it only took moments more to approach by foot. When I saw him, he was about twelve feet tall, glowing incandescent red, almost impossible to look at. Fifty feet away, I started to feel the effects of his fear aura. I noticed he had shed his shoes at some point. "I need you to grab the pair on the roof up there." I called to him, pointing at the building. Dad nodded and, with a single leap, he cleared the edge of the roof. He jumped back down moments later, one Merchant in each oversized hand. He dumped them in the sand in front of me, and let himself calm down enough that he was only ten feet tall and glowing like molten rock. I forced the sniper awake, and knelt next to her, my armored frame looming over her. She was young, barely over eighteen, but still heavily pierced, with bright purple hair pulled back in three pigtails. I amped up the distortion on my suit's speakers, and let her eyes swivel from my featureless helmet to Havok standing behind me growling. Her heart-rate skyrocketed and she started to hyperventilate, trapped in Havok's aura. "You shot two of my men." I rumbled. "Tell me why."

The girl started to sob "Ski-skidmark got pissed. He's gonna come getcha all-out, an' I was sent to soften ya up." Havok loomed closer, and she howled in terror.

"How many is he bringing?" I growled.

She looked at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. "More 'n fifty." she whispered, and passed out.

"Damn." I swore. I felt Grunt enter my range, and with a quick check, found he was bringing the truck to evacuate Brian and Janey. "Grunt's coming. He's going to get those two out. We have PRT incoming, but the Protectorate isn't available, E88 and ABB are in open battle, and all the heroes are trying to sort it out and bring in everyone possible." I explained to Havok.

My comms chimed, and Lisa cut in. "I overheard, you have to engage, otherwise the Merchant's will just go bigger, later, and without warning. Not to mention Squealer will have more time to prepare."

I grit my teeth. "Damnit." Grunt drove past, skidding to a stop beside Brian and Janey. I sent Eli and Jyouji over to help him load up our two downed suits, and hopped Jyouji into the driver's seat to replace Grunt. I inventoried my resources. Grunt, wearing a FARES equipped with a hydraulic shearing tool, Fire suppressant foam backpack, and pneumatic jackhammer. William, Eli, and myself, all in production ACADES, with hydraulic shears, plasma cutting lances, and oversized rotaty metal saws. Havok, who was looming closer to twelve feet tall again. My power, used to coordinate and unify our efforts.

"Intuit, anyone else we can call for backup? Protectorate, Wards, any freelancers left?" I asked. I didn't like the odds. We could almost certainly beat them, _if_ I used my full power. We couldn't afford it. We wouldn't be doing anyone any good being labeled as villains, even in self defense.

Lisa almost laughed. "Haven't you been paying attention? The Wards are all tied up with the Protectorate trying to defuse the small war going down on the other side of town. Nobody else that I have contact with will be able to help."

"Then get over here, asap, I need your range boost and your insight."

"Understood." with a click, Lisa hung up.

I paged Jyouji. "Take them to the medcenter in the warehouse, and patch them up. They're out of commission, but not in danger. Put it on lockdown til you hear from us."

Jyouji saluted and sped off, driving like a maniac. Grunt turned to me. "The armor was pierced through both sides with an ultrasonic round, most likely very dense. Did you find the weapon?"

"Here," I said, and tossed him the sniper rifle. Grunt caught it, and pulled a magazine out, revealing several pencil sized metal spikes, needle sharp at one end. He took one out, examining it.

"Somehow," He mused, "Squealer managed to get depleted uranium. Depleted uranium, jacketed in an esoteric alloy, not as good as mine, but very hard, dense, and sharp." He hefted the rifle. "Launched from this railgun, It probably hit at Mach two or three, all concentrated in a needlepoint." He turned to me. "That would do it. Good thing it's so dense, if it wasn't such a large round, it probably would have ricocheted inside the suit and turned Brian and Janey into potted meat." He shuddered.

Intuit entered my range, riding a motorcycle, and the bloom of two hundred feet revealed a crowd of people the next street over. Fifty seven thugs riding an assortment of tinker-made stealth cars, trucks, vans and motorcycles, and two parahumans, Skidmark and Squealer. I swore like a sailor, and made Intuit slam on the gas on her motorcycle. "They're coming."

Dad touched my shoulder. "Take full command of us." he rumbled. He was approaching fourteen feet high, and his voice had deepened to a base that was nearly incomprehensible. Surprisingly, the red light of his skin had vanished, leaving him somehow glowing pitch-black, and the aura of fear had vanished.

I blinked. "Really? Now?"

"_NOW_!" he growled, his muscles trembling. I took command, and we became Synergy. A thought had our bodies separating, spreading to provide the optimal range as my foes came closer to my primary range. I couldn't hear them with the ears of my primary bodies, but a surge of thought seized half the drivers of the invisible and silent machines and caused them to swerve wildly, as if losing control. I pulled out of their minds before the inevitable occurred, but in the aftermath, still far more silent than it had any right to be, I had cut the effective fighting force in half. I redirected Lisa to a strategic location hidden in a building where she could extend my range, but still stay safe.

Under my command, Lisa bolted up a stairway, and hid herself in a room overlooking us with windows next to the Merchant's road. I took a moment to examine the two Merchant Capes. Looking through their eyes, I studied the interior cab of the massive re-purposed machine that might have once been a semi truck, complete with a long trailer. My gut churned as Skidmark's eyes wandered lasciviously up and down over Squealer, who was wearing grubby cut-off shorts and a tight wifebeater shirt under a framework of leather straps and metal rods mapping out her major joints.

The trashy Tinker was, surprisingly, watching the road, plowing though the wreckage of various cars with the massive cowcatcher mounted on the front of her heavily modified truck. What wasn't surprising was her mad giggling as the cars in front of her were tossed aside. "Fucking crush 'em, bitch!" Skidmark crowed. "If the cuntdrizzles can't fucking drive straight, they can fuckin die!" Out of the corner of Squealer's eye, I saw that his teeth looked like pistacios.

"You bet, sweetcheeks." Squealer giggled, and accelerated, sending wrecked and unwrecked vehicles alike in front of her careening to either side. With a crackle and snap of lightning, the stealth generator overloaded, and the roar of the truck's oversized engine echoed around us, just as the vehicle came into view.

Imagine, if you would, a massive, oversized eighteen wheeler, covered in thick plates with a broad wedge welded to the front like the cowcatcher of a locomotive, spewing smoke from twin smokestacks, and towing an oversized trailer of scrapped together slabs of metal. Then, cover it in spikes and hard-mounted weapons that, while cobbled together, looked viciously dangerous, including one massive cannon mounted on the top of the trailer. Splash the whole beast with sprays of blue, blood red, and lime green paint, thrown over it like a poor man's Jackson Pollok. Ahead of it pulled a convoy of nearly twenty tinker-tech modified vehicles, racing desperately to avoid being crushed and trampled by the giant off-road tires.

The truck roared to a stop in front of the moaning, injured Merchants. I had gathered my forces in the shadow of the building where the sniper had been posted, just within range of Lisa. Skidmark and Squealer were barely at the edge of my range, and I noticed that they only added around thirty feet to my radius. We began our approach, Havok shaking in rage, my power only barely keeping him in check as his thought processes regressed and his rage soared. He was close to twenty feet tall now, and hunched over, muscles trembling and bulging. The three remaining ACADES flanked him, and Grunt swung around behind the Merchants at the edge of my range, to cut off their retreat.

Skidmark hopped out of the cab of his truck, leading a mass exodus of Merchants from their vehicles, all wearing cobbled-together and salvaged armor. I counted around thirty now, and let my mind expand to include them too. My confidence was slowly growing. I could do this. They didn't know we were approaching, their attention was focused on the injured Merchants. "You fucktards couldn't even handle it, could you?" Skidmark asked rhetorically. "Couldn't even open a couple of piss cans with backup helping you fuckwads out." He laughed harshly, spittle flying. "I ain't got no use for no stupid fuckers who can't knock over a couple of fucking suits. Bleed out. See if I give a fuck." he turned his back on the injured, and surveyed his men. "Ok, we're here to fuck up the stuck-up banana-wanabe piss stains who keep driving you pansy asses off. Let 'em know you can't fuck with the Merchants, or the Merchants will fuck you up, and your momma too."

A ragged cheer rose from the Merchants, almost drowned by the horn of Squealer's truck. Skidmark stood proudly, fists on his hips, ruler of every dreg he surveyed, until his lazy eyes spotted us, particularly Havok. "Over there! They've got capes! _Kill 'em!_" The drug runners charged.

I focused on Dad, pushing his rage to the back of his mind and letting it roar while I controlled his body. A quick upload of every martial art I had copied from the local dojos, all molded into a comprehensive union, combined with Havok's ludicrous strength, led him bounding into the mass, shrugging bullets off his pitch black skin. It took more concentration than I care to admit to keep him from killing any of them, but thugs flew twenty and thirty feet at a time, and when they landed, I captured them, put them to sleep, and used them as relays. Before long, the thugs were nearly all unconscious, laying scattered over the beach. Havok panted, facing Skidmark, who stood with his arms crossed, far too calm for having his troop devastated.

I focused Havok's rage into his fear aura, and pointed it directly at Skidmark. The drugged up supervillain's eyes crossed, and he screamed in agony and fear as his heart-rate skyrocketed. I quickly cut the aura, and Skidmark dropped, lying in his own waste, trembling, his limbs slowly dragging into a fetal position. Squealer screamed, and reached for a large red lever labeled 'Fuck Everything'.

Her monstrous truck shuddered and groaned, metal creaking before plates shifted, the trailer splitting and folding out into a pair of massive arms and legs, the cab shifting into place in the torso. In seconds, a forty foot tall mecha stood on the sand, cradling a massive cannon. Squealer's voice echoed out of an intercom. "You fucked with the wrong boyfriend, bitch!" She charged.

The mecha was surprisingly agile, but I was able to get Havok rolled out of the way as I charged forward with my ACADES team, three plasma lances blazing brightly. Squealer leveled the cannon at us, and Grunt barked "EMP!" A thought, and Havok jumped, pushing the nose of the cannon up as a bolt of lightning a yard across shot out the end. He wrestled the cannon out of the way, and ripped it off its forearm mount, before tearing it in two and throwing both pieces at the cab, where a forcefield popped up, deflecting the debris. With a fleeting thought, I realized that I could easily stop the fight in its tracks, but realized that it would be far easier to explain if we dismantled the massive machine instead of controling Squealer. As Dad's bellow of rage echoed across the Graveyard, I also realized this way was a lot more fun and educational as well. I charged my protective armor at Squealer's left ankle, extending my plasma lance to two feet long as I swiped at it, mirroring the action with Eli, as Dad scooped up William in his suit and threw him like a baseball at the armored cab. The ankles of the robot were reduced to slag, and the impact of one ton of armor straight to the torso sent the mecha crashing to the ground. Squealer hit her head inside the cabin, and was knocked unconsious with a yelp.

With a sigh and a burst of concentration, I released my companions from my control. It took more concentration to let go than I had anticipated. Grunt ambled to the massive machine lying prone on the sand, and kicked it with one armored boot. "I don't know whether to be impressed that she made this damn thing, or offended that she did it so poorly."

I reached down and helped William to his feet. "Did you really have to throw me like a bloody ball?" he groused, although I could hear the madcap grin in his tone. "I could have been killed!"

I slapped him on the back. "You'll live, you old geezer."

Lisa was picking her way across from her hiding spot, already dialing the PRT on her cell phone. I listened in.

"PRT Emergency response, how may I assist you?" The dispatcher this time was female and quite harried.

Lisa smiled. "This is Intuit, I'm a member of The Union at our work site in the Ship Graveyard. I would like to report that a large group of Merchants, including over thirty gang members, Skidmark, and Squealer, attacked us only moments ago." She paused for a moment. "They are unconscious and ready for pick up."

I could almost hear the dispatcher's jaw drop. "You have Skidmark and Squealer in custody?"

A smirk crossed Intuit's face. "Yes, we do. We need someone to come pick them up. We also have three Union-affiliated capes on site, plus three more in tinker-made construction armor. I trust you read the briefing on our organization? No? Well, rest assured that we have no intention of fighting the PRT or Protectorate. We just need you to come take out the trash."

"Understood. We'll have a group on route shortly." With a click, the call ended.

Quietly, we began retrieving and arranging the unconscious and injured Merchants, taking care of as many injuries as we could with what we had on hand. Using wires stripped from various vehicles, we were in the process of binding Skidmark and Squealer when the Protectorate and several PRT transport vans arrived. When they entered my range. I groaned. "Armsmaster, again. And he's got…" I examined the other parahuman with him. The best translation of her power I could find was 'right to bear arms' "Miss Militia with him."

Grunt, who had his faceplate open, nodded. "Understandable. It's about time they sent that prick out with a babysitter."

The vans pulled up, and Armsmaster and Miss Militia jumped out. I could immediately tell that they were worse for wear from the past few days. Armsmaster's armor was scuffed and dirty, instead of his usual neat, utilitarian polish, and Miss Militia's fatigues were muddy and torn on one leg. She cradled a large battle rifle in both arms, and surveyed the unconscious Merchants briefly before waving a contingent of PRT troopers out of the first van. As the troopers began restraining the injured thugs and taking them to prisoner transport, the two heroes came over to us, Miss Militia's rifle transforming into a knife in a holster at her waist. Armsmaster ignored us, glancing at the two unconscious villains for a moment before stalking over to the downed mecha. As he stared at it, his mouth twisted from a frown into a sneer of disgust. Grunt wandered over to him. "Terrible, isn't it?" he asked.

Armsmaster glanced sideways at Grunt, and then nodded curtly. "Yes. A waste of resources and talent."

"Squealer does have vision, but her execution leaves much to be desired." Grunt kicked a panel on one of the legs, and the door fell off. "Shoddy construction."

Armsmaster nodded. "The drugs make her… inefficient."

Miss Militia walked over to Dad, who was down to only about seven feet tall, his suit slightly wrinkled, but still classy. Somewhere, he had found his shoes. Intuit stood next to him, immaculately dressed in her costume. The heroine nodded at them. "The Union, I presume." She thrust out one hand for dad to shake. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm Miss Militia. I see you've captured some of the thorns in our sides."

Dad nodded. "We've been driving off Merchants and thugs all week. Havok, with a k. Pleased to meet you." He shook her hand with a smile, and waved a hand at Lisa. "Intuit, my associate. We represent The Union. Thank you for coming."

It was difficult to tell, but Miss Milita seemed to be smiling. "Like I said, those two have been a pain for quite some time. Mind explaining how you nabbed them? We saw the wreckage on the way here."

Intuit explained, using the sanitized version we had developed while we waited. "They ambushed our sentries with a sniper using a tinkertech railgun, and then the main force came in. We incapacitated them fairly easily, thanks to Havok." She patted his arm. "It wasn't too much more effort to disable Squealer and Skidmark. We were just better equipped and organized." She grinned, and Miss Militia nodded speculatively.

"Seems fairly straightforward. Basic self-defense."

"You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical, given what happened to Glory Girl." Havok stated bluntly.

Miss Militia winced, but shook her head. "I understand, but I will be going on record stating that this is only self-defense. Any business has the right to hire security to protect its workers, and it does not appear as if you used excessive force with the resources you had on hand."

Dad nodded slowly. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Miss Militia waved Armsmaster over from where he and Grunt had been dismantling Squealer's mecha, and he marched over and nodded at Havok, before methodically patting down Skidmark and using zip-ties to bind the villain's hands together behind his back, palm to palm with his fingers interlaced and set in a sack full of containment foam.

In silence, we finished binding the villains and loaded them into the van. Somehow, there just wasn't anything to say. Miss Militia gave a card with the direct number for the Protectorate dispatch to dad, and the vans drove off. I stood staring out at the bay, the sun beginning to set behind us. A storm was beginning to form at the horizon, but, for now, everything was peaceful.

Across Brockton Bay, the Endbringer alarms began to sound.

Fuck.


	13. Interlude 2-3a

Interlude 2-3a: News

"Good evening, and thank you for joining us. I am Arthur Lance, and this is 'The Round Table'." The brown-haired host smiled broadly at the camera, an American flag pen set neatly on the lapel of his navy blue suit. "Tonight's topic: The recent incarcerations of noted independent hero Glory Girl and popular artist Canary have rocked the nation and are being decried as some of the most unfair criminal convictions in recent memory. What do these cases have in common? What impact will these two independent rulings have on the 'cape community'? And what does that mean to the rest of the community? Tonight, I have with us PRT Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, Legend, leader of the New York Protectorate, and Morpheus, leader of the Nocturnals, an independent hero team in Chicago, to discuss these events." Arthur turned to the director, a slim, attractive woman of indeterminate age with long brown hair. "Director, a pleasure to have you with us tonight."

Rebecca nodded. "Likewise, although I wish it was under better circumstances." she smiled at the host, the lights glinting off her glasses.

"That's quite understandable. Director, the two court cases, while they were both for two very different defendants and crimes, had one major issue in common. What are 'Master/Stranger protocols', and how did they effect the cases?"

"That's a common question Arthur, and one that requires some explanation. First, Master and Stranger are terms that we use at the PRT to describe the abilities of a parahuman and the ways that they are used. Master is used to describe parahumans who have the ability to control entities outside of themselves, whether it is animated constructs, dogs, or even other people. Strangers, on the other hand, have the ability to either disguise themselves or affect the perceptions of others. Morpheus is an excellent example."

Morpheus, a tall black man with a shaved head, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a black leather trenchcoat with a katana slung over one shoulder, nodded. "Among my abilities is the ability to cause an individual to doubt what they see is reality, and wonder whether there is an underlying, alternate reality."

Director Costa-Brown smiled. "Precisely. Now, for operational security, I cannot reveal the precise methods we use to defend against hostile Masters and Strangers at the PRT, but in the instances of the two court cases, I can explain the precautions taken." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "The case against Canary was for the use of her Master abilities to cause an ex-boyfriend to remove his own genitalia and violate himself with them." She stated this in an absolute deadpan, no emotion whatsoever. The three males at the oblong table visibly winced. "Testing revealed that Canary's powers were related to her voice, and were active not only in person, but also over electronic media. Further study indicated that it was possible that her movements and gestures were also mediums for her power, as we were able to determine that volunteers had a greater hypnotic reaction to her videos than to pure audio of identical quality from those same videos."

"Due to these findings, we at the PRT recommended that the court, in order to protect from being influenced by her power, restrain her voice and movements to prevent Canary from having a transmission medium. This was not an attempt to throw her trial in one direction or another, it was simply an effort to protect the rule of law."

"So, the full body restraints, far to large for Ms. Paige's frame, rated for individuals with superhuman strength, were _not_ an attempt to bias the jury? I find that difficult to believe, Director." Arthur stated, a slight frown showing on his lips.

Rebecca shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, the only restraints available that fit the criteria we needed to guarantee the safety of the court was, as you said, oversized and rated for superhuman strength. We have now created restraint systems for this type of circumstance, but the situation was unprecedented, and we were not prepared at that time. Our analysts are currently working on designing and implementing a more comprehensive set of procedures for as many conceivable circumstances as possible, so that issues like this do not crop up in the future."

Mr Lance nodded slowly, looking doubtful. "I see. Legend, as an experienced crimefighter and member of the legendary, pardon the pun, Triumvirate, what was your impression of the trial?"

Legend looked stern, but slightly sad. "It is a tragedy, every time someone finds themselves unable to cope with their abilities. The Wards program of the Protectorate is designed specifically to help young parahumans determine how to use their abilities safely. Perhaps Canary would have benefited from it, because although she was a skilled singer and performer, her careless nature and the obvious recklessness of her choice of phrasing was, in my opinion, criminal negligence. I cannot condone her actions."

Morpheus broke in. "But do you condone sending a young girl to the Birdcage for what was, effectively, a slip of the tongue?"

Legend raised a placating hand. "Frankly, I personally cannot, but I am sworn to uphold the law, and this was the decision of the courts. My opinion has no bearing here."

The host turned to Director Costa-Brown. "What about you Director, do you feel that the sentence was a just one?"

Rebecca looked stern. "The PRT is a law enforcement organization, Mr. Lance. My personal opinion, like that of Legend, has no bearing on this situation. My duty demands that I follow the law."

"Then the fact that Canary is being denied an appeal while she is waiting to be transferred to the Birdcage?"

"The Fairy Queen. Marquois. Lustrum. Gavel. These are only a few examples of dangerous criminals who have been sent to the Birdcage. When the prison was established, it was deemed that it was too dangerous to allow any parahuman sentenced to the Birdcage the opportunity to an appeal, due to the increased danger of escape and dangerous nature of the prisoners. In a situation like this, despite what some may wish, we cannot afford the risk of precedent." Rebecca stated. Her tone was slightly sad, but still stern. "It is sad to say, but in this case, the crimes of these criminals outweigh their rights."

The host nodded slowly. "I believe I understand the argument. I can't necessarily agree, but let's move on. The other incarceration, of Glory Girl, in Brockton Bay's famous New Wave movement. She was convicted of manslaughter in the death of Ballistic, who was robbing Brockton Bay Central Bank with his team. During the course of her trial, it was revealed that Glory Girl had a Stranger aura that affected other people's feelings about her. How did this affect her trial?"

Director Costa-Brown nodded sharply. "Fortunately, Glory Girl's ability was revealed early in the trial, so it was deemed that the judge and jury had not been compromised, however, given how questionable it already was for Carol Dallon to be defending her daughter, the long proximity to a Stranger aura helped the Judge decide that an alternate lawyer would be appropriate. Mrs. Dallon stepped down voluntarily once the situation was explained, and Glory Girl attended her trial via telepresence without protest." Rebecca sipped at a glass of water. "Frankly, the real turning point was the assembled testimony of dozens of criminals apprehended by Glory Girl. Apparently, she has been going overboard for most of her career, only for any... excessive... injuries to be taken care of by Panacea. Given the video evidence, and the past history of excessive violence, the court deemed that Glory Girl had not presented the villain with an opportunity to surrender, had immediately gone for deadly force, and therefore was guilty of manslaughter."

Legend pitched in. "Glory Girl cooperated fully with the authorities, and is willingly behind bars. I spoke with her, one cape to another, and she is extremely remorseful. She explained that she had essentially playing a game, and over-reacted when things became too real and her sister was injured. As I understand it, she will be serving out her required five years for 'use of a parahuman ability in the commission of a crime' and then applying for parole."

Mr Lance nodded. "Morpheus, what is your impression of the case and sentence?"

Morpheus frowned slightly. "While at first glance, it does look bad, for a hero to be imprisoned for stopping a criminal from committing a crime, with the remaining information, I cannot fault the jury for coming to the conclusion that they did. On a personal level, I understand where Glory Girl is coming from, and empathize. There have been several times where my personal instinct was to use lethal force, but I never allowed myself to go that far." Morpheus tapped one finger on the table. "Another factor is the caution and care those of us with enhanced abilities need to use. One of my colleagues, Feral, has massive strength and durability, along with a set of animal instincts, and once told me that sometimes he felt like he was trying to handle cardboard cutouts instead of criminals. With such a skilled healer close at hand, I can definitely understand a little complacency. I can't condone it, but I can understand."

"Thank you, Morpheus. Legend, some individuals have claimed that this is an attempt to swell the Protectorate's ranks with heroes who were previously independent. Is there any truth to this?"

Legend blinked, and chuckled. "You're serious? While the Protectorate would love to have more members, sending a hero to prison to scare the others into signing up is asinine. We do have a better support structure, training, and resources than most independent groups, but if a hero doesn't want to join for whatever reason, we are not going to force them."

Arthur smiled. "Well that's good to hear. Morpheus, another question. As a whole, what is the impression of the independent heroes and rogues of those two cases."

Morpheus was in silent thought for a long moment. "Frankly, while many of my colleagues are slightly concerned about the direction things are headed, it's not really affecting us, at least in Chicago. Perhaps a couple of rookies may join the Wards or Protectorate, but that's about it. I'm sure it's worse in Brockton Bay, but not much has changed for us."

"Director, the healer known as Panacea issued a statement shortly after the conviction of her sister, essentially stating that she would be restricting her healing abilities for parahuman-related violence for the foreseeable future. What are your thoughts?"

Legend cut in. "I would like to take this one, Arthur. Panacea is a wonderful girl, and very skilled at what she does. In fact, she's worked on me personally, and most likely saved my leg once. I do know, however, that she works herself very hard, and holds herself to a very high standard. That's why, in my opinion, it's a very good thing that she's cutting back her work load. I know that personally, there are times when, no matter how much more good I can do _right now_, the best thing to do is to go home and hang up the cape, if only for a while. Perhaps Panacea can learn to do that, and come out better for it." Morpheus nodded in agreement.

Rebecca nodded as well. "I have nothing to add to that."

"Very well." Arthur said, shuffling the notes on the table in front of him. "But there has been an outcry from many ill patients who were waiting for her services."

Legend shot the host a stern look. "Then they will have to wait, or use conventional doctors. I am fully supporting Panacea's decision." Director Costa-Brown nodded in agreement.

"Director, one last question before we go. There have been several articles claiming that the number of villains will increase as the result of these rulings. Do you believe that to be the case?"

Rebecca tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Most likely not. There may be a few fools who think that we're trying to protect them because we sent a hero to prison. We will... remedy that impression. The situation in Brockton Bay is different. We are working with the Protectorate to divert resources to cover the gap made by the temporary dissolution of New Wave, but we are currently stretched thin by the hostilities in New York.

Legend nodded. "The only reason I'm here tonight is because your studio is here in the city. I'll be out patrolling after filming is complete."

"We welcome the assistance of any independent heroes who feel that they can help maintain order in New York or Brockton Bay." Director Costa-Brown concluded.

"And on that note, I believe that our time is up. Thank you all for coming, I'm sure that the audience will be glad for the clarification." Arthur stated. He looked at the camera. "This is Arthur Lance, and you've been watching The Round Table."

AN: Yes, Morpheus is based on Morpheus from the Matrix. He has a grab bag of enhanced reflexes, the stated Stranger ability to cause individuals to doubt reality, and a thinker ability that puts him into a walking dreamlike state where he perceives time at one quarter speed, with reactions and agility to match. No, the Matrix was never filmed, because butterflies.

Morpheus is actually a Case 53, his brand is on the back of the left palm, and he has crimson red and sapphire blue heterochromea.


	14. Interlude 2-3b

Interlude 2-3b: Canary

The waiting was the worst part, Paige mused. On second thought, perhaps the worst part was the claustrophobia. The containment foam pressed tightly against her, trapping her immobile inside the PRT transport van. The transport van taking her to... no, she couldn't think about it. The van had accelerated briefly a moment ago, and was now stopped. Paige had lost all sense of time along the way, couldn't even speak through the tinkertech gag. She was alone, trapped in the dark, held in a seated position in an uncomfortable restraint chair, covered in containment foam. Her skin chafed from the orange jumpsuit. The prison jumpsuit that she wore on her way to... no, bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Paige tried to hum to herself, but the gag paralyzed her vocal cords.

There was an odd thump at the back of the van, and she stared as hard as she could, trying to peer through the darkness. She wanted to call out, but no sound came out of her lips. Another thump, and the van shook. A creaking sound, and then a scream of twisting metal heralded a bright ray of noon sunlight that seared Paige's eyes. The entire back of the van was ripped away and wadded into a ball by a mammoth figure, silhouetted by light. He, and it had to be a he from the build, had to have been nearly eight feet tall, and muscled like an overachieving bodybuilder. As Paige's eyes adjusted, she saw that his skin was dark gray, and visibly tough, and that he only had three broad fingers and a thumb on each hand.

"Canary, I presume?" he asked, his voice a smooth bass deep enough to vibrate bone. He shifted, and the light hit his face, showing rough, coarse features, as gray as the rest of him, with a broad, prominent nose. Paige nodded desperately. "A pleasure to meet you, although the circumstances are somewhat less than desirable. My name is Bullpack. May I interest you in a hasty egress from these unpleasant surroundings?" A long, skeletal arm with spindly fingers snapped out, and slapped the massive man in the back of his bald head.

"Quit trying to impress her and get out of the way, we're on the clock!" the voice was high and slightly sibillant, with an odd hissy quality.

Bullpack chuckled, and stepped out of the way, bowing low and beckoning at the open door. Paige saw he was wearing khaki cargo fatigues and a black wifebeater shirt with what had to be a bullet hole in it over his heart. Then the next figure was silhouetted, and she shuddered. If Bullpack was huge and intimidating, this person was downright terrifying. The lady, and it had to be a lady from the shape, was over six feet tall, but skeletally thin, with elongated limbs and a small slender torso. Her hands were enormous, spidery things with long talons for nails, and hung nearly to her bony knees. Paige looked at her head, and nearly screamed. Four black beady eyes were set in two pairs between a pair of bone ridges drawn back from a pointed, flared nose to elaborately folded ears the size of the woman's entire head. A long mohawk of brown hair cascaded halfway down her back. The woman wore tight black spandex, but was festooned with several brown belts and bandoliers covered in pouches. An odd silver pistol hung halfway down her thigh. "Like what you see, girl?" the woman whispered, and Paige saw that her mouth was far wider than it should be, and filled with razor-sharp teeth.

"She's just startled, Echo, there's no need to be impolite." Bullpack stated firmly.

Echo, if that was her name, shrugged, her angular shoulders moving expressively. "She, of all people, should be more tolerant of those who appear different." She looked sharply at Paige's bright yellow hair, interwoven with natural yellow feathers. "Isn't that right, _Canary?_"

Bullpack sighed. "Just let her loose before backup arrives. As you said, we're on the clock."

Echo nodded, and stepped into the van, hunching forward slightly to keep from bumping her head. She reached in one of her pouches, and pulled out a long silver spike. "Hold still, girl. This may..._tingle._" She shoved the spike into the containment foam, it's tip lightly contacting Paige's chest, and touched a chromed button on the top. There was a sensation of vibration, and a low hum that quickly rose to pitches inaudible to human ears. Gradually, the foam started to dissolve around the spike, going quicker and quicker, until it fell loose. Echo grabbed it gingerly, and dragged the tool through the foam restraining Paige's limbs, revealing her heavy hand restraints and straps trapping her limbs. Echo blinked, and Paige noticed that the outermost pair of eyes blinked slightly faster. "They were serious about restraining you. Sure you don't have a brute rating?" Paige shook her head, and heard a low growl from Bullpack.

Echo produced a set of lockpicks and swiftly unlocked Paige's restraints before helping her to her feet and leading her out of the ruined van, and into the sunlight with a low hiss of discomfort as the light hit her eyes. Paige blinked, staring around with a sense of almost absurd wonder at the long distances around her. It was a pleasant, sunny day, and they were in the middle of nowhere. She glanced at the van, and realized it was decorated to look like a small Uhaul truck, the two PRT troopers in jumpsuits laying on the side of the road, spooning and snoring deeply. The van was parked on the side of a long highway that stretched on for miles without curving. Echo firmly gripped Paige by the chin, turning her head gently as she inspected the tinker tech gag that wrapped around her throat and covered her mouth and nose.

"Hmm... aha!" With a quick twist of a pick, Echo unlocked the lock at the back of Paige's neck, and the gag powered down and fell off. Paige gasped, and smiled broadly before throwing her arms around Echo.

"Thank you, Thank you, thank you!" She rushed over to Bullpack and hugged him tightly, her blushing cheek squeezed tightly against his iron hard abs. "What can I ever do to thank you?"

"I have an idea." drawled a voice from behind her, followed by a hissing snicker, and Paige spun around to see two more people behind her. Her first impression of the first man was 'wings', and she was right. Instead of arms, the first man had a pair of long wings covered with brown feathers that he held folded up close to him, leaving him looking like he was wearing a reddish brown colored cloak. He was slender, and fairly short, only a little over five feet tall. His skin was tanned darkly brown, and he had striking, attractive features that were only offset by a nose that could be charitably called 'beakish'. The man's eyes were a brilliant amber. He strode up to Paige, and grasped her hand with a two fingered hand coming from the top joint of his wing, kissing the back of it. "A pleasure to meet you, miss Canary. My name is Thunderhawk, and my preferred payment would simply be an hour of your company and a pleasant meal." Canary blushed.

Thunderhawk's companion elbowed him in the ribs, and he winced. "SSSorry about him, he'sss a real charmer." The speaker was about Paige's height, but she was much curvier, and covered head to toe with bright green scales. Bright red hair cascaded to her waist in casual curls. Her outfit was little more than a skimpy bikini made of metal and leather, with a rapier slung in a belt at her waist. "I'm Trance, and I think we're going to be..." Her wide, bright blue eyes seemed to light up, and Paige felt herself get drawn in. "_friendssss._"

Thunderhawk brushed Trance with a wing, and there was a loud crackle of static as she twitched and her hair sprang apart in a wave of strands. "And the lovely Trance is a bit of a tease." Trance pouted.

"Ssspoilsssport. What if little birdy wantsss to _play?_"

"Cool it, Trance. We're not done yet." barked Echo. She snapped her long fingers twice, the noise echoing like a gunshot, and a silver plane, obviously tinkertech, shimmered into visibility in the field next to her. "We need to get out before the replacement capes get here." A hatch on the back of the plane opened, and she hustled Paige inside, helping her buckle into a comfortable seat, before heading to the cockpit. Trance sauntered in, every step fluid and effortless. Paige felt absurdly jealous. The serpentine lady was followed by Bullpack and Thunderhawk, the latter shivering as he entered the plane. Echo called back over the intercom. "Liftoff in two, ladies. Buckle up!" The three... Paige wanted to call them heroes, but they had stopped a legal prisoner transport... Anyway, whatever they were, Bullpack, Thunderhawk, and Trance buckled up quickly

Sure enough, two minutes later, there was a silent surge of inertia, and a brief sense of weight that subsided into the faintest sensation of motion. Paige glanced at her rescuers. She felt suddenly overwhelmed, and tears streaked her cheeks. "T-Thank you!. I-I wasn't gonna make it t-there."

Thunderbird smiled gently. "How could I leave such a lovely lady to languish in such unpleasant circumstances?"

"B-But why me? Y-You know what I did." Paige hugged herself tightly, trying to keep from shaking. There was a click, and she felt a sudden warmth across her shoulders as Trance wrapped her in a hug.

"It'sss ok, Paige. One lady to another, who hassssn't wanted to have sssome prick do jussst that?" Paige giggled slightly.

"Frankly, your court case was the result of gross negligence at best." Bullpack stated. "At worst, you were the victim of a railroading scheme. Was there anyone you had upset recently?"

Paige had managed to stop sniffling. "Ummmm... Well, we were making a lot of money, and the record companies weren't very happy that we wouldn't sign with any of them." She paused. "Wait, could the record companies really have done this to me?"

Bullpack shrugged. "Who can know the hearts of petty men? Regardless of the cause, your conviction was unjust." He smiled. "When an old rival contacted me, how could I resist coming out of retirement?"

Paige smiled weakly. She couldn't help but like these people, no matter what they looked like. "So who are you anyway?"

"We, my dear lady, are the Menagerie, mercenaries extraordinaire!" Crowed Thunderhawk. He wiggled two feathery eyebrows. "Wanna sign up?"

Paige chuckled. "Why not? I owe you so much anyway."

"Then welcome to the team, Canary." Echo said over the intercom. Paige jumped a bit.

"How did she hear us?" she whispered.

Echo's amused voice came back over the intercom. "These ears aren't for show, you know."

Paige blushed. "So, I guess I'm a fugitive now..."

Bullpack shrugged. "Perhaps. You would be surprised how many in our circle would shelter you. Many independents and rogues followed your case with great interest. Thunderbird is a huge fan."

Thunderbird held a hand to his heart. "So beautiful, sweet, and delicate. My heart thrilled when you were performing." he winked. "Your music was quite good as well."

Paige giggled as Bullpack continued. "It was a tragedy when you were convicted, and it was only by a hair that the cooler heads, myself included, kept most of us from uprising. Only the blind and the foolish couldn't tell something was wrong." The gray mercenary sighed. "A number of years ago, I was an escape facilitator, a villain who other villains hired to break them out of prison, kept on retainer like an insurance policy. It was a good living, but uncomfortable. I was working for some of the worst scum imaginable, and when one of my colleagues was finally caught, I retired and started a new life as a mercenary, gathering my Menagerie." He chuckled. "And wouldn't you know that I get an email two days ago from someone calling himself AngryBowler, with the details of your prison transport. My withered sense of justice couldn't resist." He clapped his broad hands together. "So, you'd like to join the Menagerie?"

Paige nodded. "I can't go back, they'd just throw me straight in the Birdcage. I'll do what I can to help you out, but it can't be much. I'm just a singer who can be a bit persuasive."

Trance, still draped across her shoulders, giggled. "And I can be a bit _persssuasive_ when I look sssomeone in the eyessss. It'sss not a huge power, but it helpsss. Hypnotic gaze, compelling ssssong, those are both _advantagessss_, little bird."

Paige nodded slowly. Thunderbird piped in. "Besides, us Case 53s have to stick together."

"Case 53?" Paige asked. The term was slightly familiar, but only in passing, she only remembered because a particularly annoying reporter kept asking her.

"You know, _us?_ Capes with non-standard biology, show up out of nowhere with no memories of our past, unusual tattoo somewhere on your body? Any of that familiar?" Thunderhawk asked incredulously.

Paige shook her head. "Nope, got all my memories. Daddy bought me a drink that gave me my powers. The feathers came in then." The plane went very still.

"I think..." Bullpack said slowly, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "That we have a lot we need to discuss."

AN: AND GUESS WHO'S BACK, BITCHES! That's right, Automatonation, author extrodinaire, is back to Human Resources, refreshed, recharged, reengaged, and raring to go!

That being said, here's an interlude, inspired by some of you guys who had a very valid point. Hope you like the Ocs. Here's the breakdown:

Bullpack: Brute/Breaker. Strong, tough, smart, and able to manipulate his own inertia to a limited degree. He can run nearly 8o miles per hour with a run up, and shrug off most anything less than an anti-material round. He's been a cape for quite some time now, and was friends/rivals with Madcap. Leader of the Menagerie. Cauldron tat is on his left calf.

Thunderhawk: Mover/Striker. Feathered Casanova, flies with his wings, can build up and release electric charges. In case you can't tell, a bit of a flirt. Don't mention his height. _Don't_ mention his height. Cauldron tat is on his right shoulder.

Echo: Thinker/Tinker. Superhearing and sound analysis, coupled with expanded low-light vision. Decent agility, tinker specialty is vibration and sonic technology, both sound production and dampening. Second in command, very goal oriented. Cauldron tat is on the small of her back

Trance: Master/Changer. Hypnotic gaze, capable of elongating and unhinging her limbs to a limited degree. Hardened scales can stop knives and small-caliber rounds. Very sultry and kind of promiscuous. The speech impediment is fake, used to play up the snake thing. Very skilled with the rapier. Has a website for those of... interesting tastes. Cauldron tat is on her right breast.


End file.
